


Rebuilding Sandscapes

by Markala, Runar



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A Stitch in Time - Andrew Robinson, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Death, Gore, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Multi, OT3, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Post-Canon Cardassia, Reconciliation, Religion, Spoilers, slowest of slow burns, suicidal ideations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-12
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-09-17 01:40:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16965285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markala/pseuds/Markala, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Runar/pseuds/Runar
Summary: Helping a devastated civilization weather the brutal fallout of war lasts long after the fires have burnt themselves out. One Doctor Julian Bashir has finally come full-circle, and faces a task more daunting than dressing the wounds of a shambled nation or a death toll climbing ever-higher, but rebuilding his strained relationship with Garak. Then there's the matter of the involvement of the ex-tailor's old acquaintance, one Kelas Parmak, a doctor also.Well, let it never be said that Elim Garak, Son of Tain, didn't have atype.(A Post-Canon Cardassia fic)





	1. Mourning Patriot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The planet is literally on fire, Garak still needs (a lot of) therapy, and Dr. Parmak has their work cut out for them.

* * *

 

**One Week Post The Fire**

S'ie Elim Garak wasn't sure which aspect of rebuilding his devastated Cardassia was worse, the rampant disease, the ever-growing death toll, or the isolation. His Cardassia had long kept its borders closed, but her citizens had never been isolated from one another; and some communities had even spanned across cities, but now? Now, Garak couldn't even be aware of how people beyond this sector were fairing even if he wanted to.

When Garak saw the veritable ruin that Paldar, his childhood home, had become, it was easy to posit the horrifying conditions his people were facing far beyond the horizon. The bleak atmosphere had the former-exile reminiscing on his past, briefly, it wasn't something he could afford to make a habit of doing too much of nowadays. Prior atrocities done in the name of his beloved Cardassia, now only faint echoes against a harsh backdrop of the fallout from the war with the Dominion. Part of him wondered if his misdeeds could ever hope to garner forgiveness in the eyes of his people, in the face of such total desolation.

Sleep was a rare commodity for Garak, and the restlessness often had him standing outside waiting for sunrise, watching the ever-present red glow skitter along the horizon even in the absence of the sun’s direct rays; the sandy haze in the air would glow ominously, and served as a deadly reminder to onlookers that their trials were far from over. Few children had survived the Dominion's bombardments, but the former-Exile could already see how the surviving youth would shape the emerging culture; already they called this time, “The Fire.” Not called such because of the fiery destruction the Dominion's ships had rained down upon their home, or the razed cities, or the miles of wasteland left behind, but named after the never-ending pyres.

Burning was the most efficient method to slow the spread of disease produced by the rotting corpses, and Cardassia’s sun was strong, providing a climate much too hot, even in the night; decomposition set in quickly amongst the dead, and it was impossible to bury so many fast enough. Whole areas had become like open-air crematoriums, glowing in wicked, hungry reds and oranges, and spitting out long, billowing pillars of smoke at all hours demanding to be seen.

Few forward-thinking survivors had begun tending to those pyres with the intention to use the remains to help fertilize and cultivate small plots of land in hopes to take the dead, and coax life from the ashes. Doctor Parmak had already expressed their numerous medical concerns for the well-being of those people, as well-meaning as their goals were, the pyres couldn't survive on corpses alone and required more flammable fuel, thus a great variety of things were thrown in as well, like furniture, or as was becoming increasingly more often, chemicals. The smoky plumes carried with them dangerous toxins and fumes, and with them it was less a question of would medical complications arise, and more a question of  _when_. But such concerns felt so very far away, intangible, and therefore harmless; after all, when one is barely able to grasp that in the moment they are alive, how can that same person be concerned about developing cancer in two decades? Or being no longer able to breath in six months?

As Garak watched the sun rays highlight and pierce through the clouds of billowing smoke, casting long shadows on the jagged skyline, he is hit once more by the sheer magnitude of the death that surrounded him now. It settled on Garak’s heart in a way that nothing had before. He'd loved many, and deeply in what seemed like previous lives almost an eternity ago. That Garak had cared at all was one of his closest kept secrets, he took a moment, and let the faces of each person he had ever cared for come to his mind's eye, perfectly preserved, with a clarity that almost seemed to burn.

His eyes snapped open, as the relentless glow of the pyres had begun to slowly dim with the harsh light of day that crept in to offset it. Garak found himself imagining how many of those faces he once knew, loved, had burned, were still burning as he stood there, unable to do a thing about it. Not for the first time and certainly not the last, Garak couldn't help but imagine how many of those he cared for would be used to fertilize the ground, and he felt the sting of loss anew, sharp as a knife, as if lodging itself deep into his lungs.

With a blink, then a forced inhale, Garak thrust those memories away, bracing himself as another memory surfaced, so vibrant and vivid and with a  _visceral clarity_  that Garak had to lean back against the frame of Tolan's shed to withstand the emotional impact. Bright and beautiful, Garak saw Cardassia in his mind’s eye, whole and perfect as it once had been, it was the treasured image that had seared into his memories, jealously guarded, since the day he'd taken the transport ship off-world to Romulus.

After a breathless moment, his memory shifted to the more recent, the ones of his planet burning and dying-!

_Shff-shf-shff._

Garak quickly registered the soft pattern of Parmak's footsteps approaching him from behind before stopping to stand next to him and taking in the sight of the burning world they now shared. But the doctor paying witness to another of Garak's breakdowns seemed to bother the ex-spy less than his instincts would demand, as Parmak had already seen Garak in worse straits earlier that week alone, leaving that particular emotional door already flung wide open between them. Despite their tense relationship, Garak found himself admiring just how dignified Doctor Parmak looked that morning, both older and taller than Garak, with long hair, dark and greying, done up in a practical braid; and of all the faces from Garak's sordid past, seeing Parmak's again a week ago, only hours after the Dominion's surrender, outside the husk of a bombed-out hospital seemed like further proof that the universe had a sense of humor.

Garak's thoughts went back to when he'd first witnessed the destruction the Dominion had made of his home planet, and Garak couldn't help but remember how Julian had stood beside him then, unwavering in his support, much like how, strangely enough, Kelas stood beside him now. Then a strangled, plaintive sound arose and escaped Garak's throat, unbidden and raw with grief.

Still Kelas stayed there, next to Garak, both watching as the Fire’s glow gave way to a new day.

And within that glow, Elim Garak’s greatest love, his world Cardassia, continued to burn and wither away into a charred husk of her former glory, and all he could do, patriot that he was, was watch it go up. Said patriot then felt an almost-sharp constriction in his chest, no less painful in its familiarity, and his breaths growing shorter and more distressed with every exhale as his more analytical thoughts whispered of a mounting panic attack exacerbated by his lack of sleep and stress, his mind ready to cast him down into the anxious abyss of his memories-!

Then, with an almost clairvoyant reading of their companion's distress, Kelas chose to reach out to their friend.

The feel of a solid hand on one of Garak’s shoulders coupled with the gentle murmur of comforting words, grounded him, what exactly those words had been Garak couldn't process or recall, the sound of the doctor’s voice had been a mere susurrus against the ringing in the ex-spy's ears; but like all things, the moments of panic and fear passed, and Garak had survived. At some point, Garak realized he must have crouched down, as if he'd borne the entire metaphysical weight of all his world's misfortunes upon his back; and so more moments passed before Garak resolutely uncurled himself, standing upright once more, and turned grateful eyes onto Kelas before the ex-spy went back inside his shed to sit.

The Cardassian mind was durable, capable, and fierce, all their memories cyclical in nature, as if happening all at once, it allowed for all the individual's joys and pains to mix into a truly all-encompassing life experience; and as Kelas passed him a small ration of food before settling down beside him, Garak found himself glad that one Doctor Kelas Parmak was there to temper the harsh edges of his existence.

Making an effort to nurture a little of the optimism that both Kelas and Julian espoused, Garak consoled himself with the reassurance that none of his lost loves had to suffer the sights that he'd no choice but to look upon now.

 

* * *

 

As was now their custom most mornings, S'ie Kelas Parmak found Garak awaiting the sunrise, today their friend was pensive, almost as if the man weren't sure the sun would ever shine upon Cardassia Prime again. Prior to their approach, Kelas took a moment to look at Garak, as they were wont to do, and noted that by Cardassian standards the ex-spy was frankly in the camp of average, shorter than than most, a bit stout, with eyes too blue; out the corner of their eye, Kelas saw the sun's creeping rays banish the shadows that had fallen over the man's face, and the doctor felt, not for the first time, that there was still an undefinable quality that seemed to shine outward from their companion, out from under all the masks, even when in a state of utter emotional devastation. Watching as Garak leaned against the wall of the shed that was now the man's home, Kelas was once again acutely aware that unlike most, the doctor themself had been made privy to the full brunt of Garak's emotional turmoil, and the knowledge that it existed in the first place; and Kelas watched, and _saw_ , as the man wrestled with _-most of-_ the same demons every survivor now faced.

Although Kelas would forever carry the memories of the suffering Garak had brought upon their life, there was no changing the past, the doctor made conscious effort to help the difficult, surprisingly worthy man before them.

Kelas approached the shed, and turned to greet the sun. A moment of abreaction passed over the two, as was common for them most days. It was difficult for anyone to gaze out at the pyres and not relive exactly how their home's current conditions had come to be.

Some odd minutes later, after a silent breakfast, Garak had recollected himself and silently moved on to accomplish his goals for the day, whatever they were, and Parmak had gone to stand beside the monument for the dead. The one Garak had built over the ruins of Tain's old house, and the doctor absently ran a palm over a smoothed edge. Now that they thought about it, a few of the city's original monuments had survived the Dominion's bombardment, no doubt a feat of Cardassian architecture. Kelas regarded one the surviving monuments they knew was about seventy-four kilometers out from where they were, which had been erected to commemorate the establishment of the Depta Council, and revered as a symbol of the Cardassian spirit. But in their mind Kelas considered Garak’s monument to be the only one of worth anymore, surely, the only one that could be seen as a 'symbol of the Cardassian spirit.’

Continuing in their daily ritual, Kelas gazed up at the monument warmly, uttering a soft prayer to the dead. They no longer donated small amounts of their blood to the site, realizing that the chance of infection was too great to risk something so preventable, what with the lack of medical supplies, staff, and much more pressing health needs of the sick and the dying all around. Garak however, donated blood from the same cut on his left palm nearly every day, despite the doctor's repeated warnings and reprimands. But said doctor was no fool either, they knew that their friend was intending for the cut to scar, as if seeking to gain a physical brand to reflect his inner turmoil.

Kelas' quiet contemplation had reached its inevitable conclusion, so Kelas had turned to see their friend, several yards back, watching them. Then Garak looked away, not out of guilt or contrition from having been caught, but simply to continue with his tinkering.

At least that much hadn’t changed; Garak, always the observer.

Then another flicker of hope arose in the doctor's chest, hope that perhaps Garak could come out the other side of this cataclysm as a whole person. The distinct changes in the other man's behavior were obvious to Kelas already, after all, the fact that Garak had erected such a soulful monument at all had been entirely unexpected. Naturally, nearby survivors had gravitated to the spot, eager to commune with one another, with Garak having placed himself in the center of it. Here was the man who thrived in the shadows, now channeling his mourning into art, honoring the dead, and placing himself in the midst of the emerging society around it.

Then a quiet, dark thought surfaced from the depths,  _'Perhaps this is what Elim needs, to raze all he once held dear so something beautiful can emerge from the ashes.'_

It took some moments for Kelas to figure out exactly what their friend was trying to accomplish with all his fiddling; and as Garak moved about the area, the older Cardassian finally recognized the pieces for what they were. That clever man was trying to construct some functioning solar panels, and with that observation a spark of optimistic thoughts ran themselves through Kelas' head.

_'There is hope indeed.'_

Normally, the doctor would stay and assist Garak in his morning endeavors, but there was much work to be done, always so much to be done, never an end of things that needed doing and not enough hands or resources to do them. Kelas had only ever met a few of other species, but none the less they sent a silent prayer of thanks to any who'd listen, that for as stubborn and infuriating as Cardassians could be, Kelas was never more grateful for their people's resilience and resourcefulness. Without instruction, or long range communication, the survivors were already tackling the issues they faced; That even in the face of a shattered, uneven world ablaze, Kelas could feel the spirit of their people and the metaphorical sinews that bound them all together.

Then with a rueful smile on their face, Kelas dispelled their daydreams and turned to leave, quickly making their way past the monument and mourners to seek out S'ie Acim Pen, a young orderly who'd Kelas worked with a few times prior to the Fire. It was difficult to classify which goals and tasks needed to be addressed first, everyone's needs both immediate and long term were at an all time high, and as such the entire community seemed to have silently agreed upon attempting all of them at once.

Somewhat reinvigorated, Kelas traveled further into the city with the intention of organizing and perhaps accomplishing at least one of those goals today.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Words:  
> S'ie - Civilian title


	2. Save the Ones You Can Save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Parmak walks to work, contemplates his efficacy in the face of insurmountable odds, and the planet is (still) on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rú: If you read chapter 1 when it was published there's been revisions, probably a good idea to review it before continuing. Also it seems future chapters will be this long on average. It seems I'm not gonna half ass this thing :P

The journey from Garak’s shed to S'ie Acim Pen's improvised community always felt incredibly long, and very short by the same measure.

Exhaustion was the new normal, and Kelas Parmak had plenty of it to spare.

Much like all the other still-living mortals on this burning, dust-battered rock known as Cardassia Prime, Kelas made healthy attempts at distracting themself from ruminating too much on the grim spiral of circumstances that had brought Cardassia to its knees. Kelas was sure they'd go mad if they let themself linger overmuch on the fact that their home planet was still ablaze or that their people continued to die in droves. It was as much an act of self-preservation as it was distraction and performed with varying degrees of success, as Kelas' thoughts oft wandered back to the dire state of said home planet.

These days the doctor only managed to sleep in snatches, and even rarer yet was that slumber not beset by nightmares. Not that their dreams, historically, had any semblance of equanimity either, as nightmares were well-trod territory for Kelas. Yet, even now on the occasions where sleep gifted them with a dark and dreamless night, their repose was now doomed to be swiftly broken by awakening to the acrid stench of burning bodies and chemicals wafting through the air. The city of the waking world was buffeted by merciless winds, heavy with dust and scattering debris, carrying with it the intermittent screams of the dying, and punctuated by the occasional explosion booming away in the distance. 

_Buh-bwom! Brrmmsshhh-!_

One such explosion clattered violently through the air, as if in response to their internal dialogue. That one sounded far off yet, crackling in the distance, it could've been something actually exploding, more buildings collapsing, or both; Kelas supposed they'd never know. So with a bitter sort of ease, Kelas shook off their instinctive concern, they didn't have to resources to investigate, much less help, though they greatly wished otherwise. 

Fortunately, the doctor's poor quality of sleep hadn't worn them down too much yet, and nightmares or no, the long-haired Cardassian knew that chemical sleep aids were as scarce as every other medication across the planet, and also of low scavenging value in comparison to other more common medications. Additionally, any sleep aids that Kelas had access to or may come across in the near future they already planned to give to Garak in the coming weeks, who needed them much more.

Kelas did  _not_ want to have to deal with the aftermath of Garak working through three nights on no sleep... Not again.

These days, Kelas had places to go, people to see, and never a shortage of things that needed to be done-!

Just then, any further contemplation was halted as they turned left onto another street, somehow more ruined than the last; it was littered with the wreckage of a ruined block of semi-skeletal edifices barely holding together on the right side of the street. From the looks of things, either one or several restaurants on the ground level now laid strewn in pieces across the road. Normally such an observation would merit a scavenging trip, as food was now a limited and coveted resource, Kelas didn't have time for one right now, as there were other pressing matters to attend to first.

_'Possible food source... I'll come back to check later.'_

Kelas made a way through the angry tangle of rubble and debris occupying most of the street as safely as they could manage, sliding and scaling to avoid particularly unstable-looking pieces of stone and metal like their life depended on it; and who knew, with every step and shimmy Kelas took it probably did.

There were many paths and city roads even worse off than the one Kelas was traversing, some entirely blocked off by fallen buildings or too clouded with smoke from entire urban and governmental districts still merrily ablaze. This old city was as expansive as it was complex, with webs of roads and pathways, all twisting and winding before turning back in on itself, and as much as Kelas had tried to explore, they'd only barely begun to re-map the half-ruined landscape.

Leaving the leveled street behind them, the doctor was relieved to see the next road almost even out again. Fewer chunks of building, but with more scattered shards of metal and broken glass. Kelas even noted a general housing complex that had collapsed backwards instead of onto the street.

_'How many bodies are in there? How much food? Clothing? How many essentials am I walking past right now?'_

It looked perilous, but Kelas decided to remember the building anyways; they could come back if there the situation grew, dare they think it, dire enough to chance picking through a leaning, half-fallen building no long attached to its own foundation...

Garak would pitch a fit if Kelas ever brought that idea up, probably.

Kelas' musings were halted once more as the path grew rough again. So they made their way onward, quick and careful as they climbed, weaved, and squeezed past the large, vision-obscuring boulder of what was once a shopping plaza only to come to a street that was completely impassable from the side they were on.

 _'Slet,'_ Kelas cursed quietly.

Kelas could have sworn this street was passable yesterday. Perhaps some structures collapsed, perhaps this is a new street, or perhaps the doctor's memory was becoming strained from exhaustion.

_'More lost time, more setbacks...'_

Around twenty minutesand a laborious trek through three only half-wrecked streets later, and finally, Kelas found themselves back on track to their destination despite the added travel distance and the burning ache in their limbs.

_Crnch-crnch-crnch!_

The glass crunched obnoxiously under their boots, shards seemed to be covering most of this new street, and made Kelas feel particularly thankful that on the day of the attack they'd had the foresight to slip on their most durable boots. If they'd worn standard shoes, or worse yet, gone barefoot, then they would've probably been hindered quite dramatically by now, either by limiting their range of travel or by injury. Their boots were good, with thick soles, and amazing ankle support that had already saved the doctor from several would-be sprained ankles so far.

It wasn't self-aggrandizing to acknowledge the fact that Kelas was probably one of few medical workers remaining in the city, maybe even the entire planet; and it was that unlovely bit of reality that the doctor had quickly come to realize that they'd needed to prioritize their own safety more than they'd made habit to.

In their contemptible foresight, the Dominion had targeted hospitals along with other critical infrastructural buildings in their aerial assault, and as such-

_"Ahhhhhhgh!"_

That was a scream.

Kelas tensed, ready to run to the source of the distressed cry at a moment's notice as their eyes had begun scanning their surroundings for any sign of recent collapses or perhaps even the survivor-in-distress themselves.

_"Aaaaahghh!"_

The victim's second scream echoed through the air and the doctor was dismayed to realize that the misshapen rubble that littered the street, surrounding them, made the sound echo is the most unexpected ways, not only around Kelas themself, but also around the victim, making them practically impossible to locate.

Not one for giving up however, Kelas darted across the street to the open face of a building, well, more like a building if it didn't have a front half anymore. There was no other way in and the exposed staircases were obviously collapsed, their only option was to climb. So Kelas strove to get as high as they could, finding purchase on exposed beams and walls Trembling with effort, they found purchase on exposed beams and bits of cracked wall, and pulled themself up to a stable vantage point on what was left of the building's second story by squeezing themself between a wall and a fallen support beam firmly wedged against its brethren.

“I heard you scream, I'm a doctor, where are you?!" The long-haired Cardassian had cupped their hands around their mouth with a renewed urgency, shouting, "help me find you!”

 _"Eeeiiiiighhh-!"_ A directionless shriek echoed back.

“Please tell me where you are!”

_"Aaaaihgshhk-!"_

The responding cry was ragged, trailing off weakly with a wet, awful gasp. It was a familiar sound to Kelas, either the victim was crying or their lungs were filling with blood from one or even two punctured lungs. Kelas didn't have the supplies or equipment to treat such grievous injuries, not here amongst the rubble or even at any of the survivor encampments, even if they were able to free the poor soul, their survival rate decreased dramatically because they'd still have to  _move_ them.

 _"Kati,_ " they cursed.

The air was pierced by another of the victim's cries, once, then twice, shorter now, wetter, before trailing off sharply.

Then, five, silent, seconds.

"I've found you, hold on!" The words tumbled bitterly out Kelas' mouth, there wasn't  _anything_  they could actually do for them, other than offer empty hope, false as it was. If the victim was still coherent enough to hear it, or even alive by the time Parmak responded. Maybe they'd been knocked out in a building collapse, only to wake up and find that they were drowning in their own blood with barely enough coherence to scrabble and cry for deliverance that would never come, to then be heard by a passerby with the skills and none of the tools in which to save them.

Who could know, maybe they weren't dead, and had passed out from pain or blood loss; that mattered little however, since the likelihood of Kelas finding the victim, who was most likely another cooling corpse to rot under the sun, had dropped to zero.

Kelas could feel the tremor that ran through their arm, braced against the metal of the fallen support beam, and they sighed deeply.

 _'It is what it is,'_  they reminded themself,  _'remember the rules of triage and save the ones you can save, no more, no less.'_

The whole incident had expended more valuable energy than they'd anticipated, Kelas noted as they began their careful descent. The doctor wasn’t as young as they used to be, and if they injured themself in some impulsive act of heroism, Garak would never let them hear the end of it.

Soon they were climbing down, and after a few more mindfully placed footholds and handholds, the long-haired doctor had retraced the path of their route up with as much attentiveness as they could muster before they hopped down the remaining half-meter onto solid ground.

Straightening up quickly, they brushed themselves off and caught their breath before they got back onto their original path. It wasn't long before Kelas had oriented themself westward again, toward the  _Western Tarlak_   _District_ , and did their best to forget the proximity to death as their boot-clad feet carried them forward.

There was still work to do.

 

* * *

 

Kelas arrived sometime before midday, a little later than they would've liked, but not overmuch.

Progress, slow as it was, and appreciation for small mercies was what would keep the doctor sane.

Kelas had journeyed that morning to meet up with the only other medical staff whose survival they was sure of, known as S'ie Acim Pen, a younger Cardassian now sheltering in a small stretch of unburnt and un-toppled buildings along with a small encampment of survivors.

Acim Pen had been an orderly under Dr. Kelas Parmak at  _Kardasi'or_ _Urgent Care Hospital_ , and the younger man had never managed to stand out much from the rest of the staff until now, when he had accomplished what so many others had failed to do, survive. Kelas' general impression of Pen was that of a young man who, while being as devastated as all the planet's inhabitants were, still maintained his determined drive to help others. Soon after the Dominion's bombings had ceased, Kelas remembered how Pen approached them among the frenzied chaos of the city, the whole world in shambles, and how the young man had looked to Kelas for direction.

Acim Pen's entire world had gone to pieces, and at a complete loss for what to do, he'd clung to the first semblance of an authority-figure he could find. Who just so happened to be Kelas Parmak, his professional superior from what seemed like a lifetime ago.

This was quickly becoming a pattern regarding other survivors that the doctor had encountered so far; and atop their collective grief and shock, a great many of were often aimless and overwhelmed, and none of them had ever held any kind of leadership position prior to the razing of their homes. So logically, after having worked in high stakes operating rooms and emergency wards for longer than Pen had been alive, Parmak ended up becoming something of a guiding figure among this small group of weary survivors.

And Kelas knew they were no politician, or leader really, but until a more suitable person could be found, they were going to wrestle some productivity out of the little influence they had.

Pen wasn't inside the building where he was sheltering, but was spotted quickly by the doctor a little ways down the street, easily recognized by his once-bright green top. The young man's arms were laden with some pieces of rubble, or perhaps crushed furniture, and he was rather dusty.

Kelas waved to get his attention as they approached.

Then, finally seeing the older Cardassian, Pen inclined his head in greeting before dropping his burden off to the side where it would be out of the way.

“The sun rises, Doctor Parmak," Pen said in greeting. Parmak noticed that ever since the Fire most survivors used less formal language. Pen for example greeting them with "The sun rises," an optimistic handover from the Oralian Way, and used amongst the lower classes. Just a week ago Acim would have greeted them with the stiffly formal "Glory to the State." 

The times Kelas had been socially obligated to use the formal greeting, they felt the caustic words eating away at them as they passed their lips. To see the change in how Acim interacted with them now, and was actively choosing to drop formalities reassured Kelas that there was indeed hope for the young man. 

Kelas returned the greeting in kind, “And with such warmth! You've made much progress.”

Pen almost smiled, though it ended up as more of a grimace. With a haunted look he said, “I find myself awake at night and outdoors in the darkness since-” The sentence didn't need to be finished.

"Hmm," Kelas hummed sympathetically.

“After the third time I tripped, I decided to start clearing the area," Pen continued bashfully, rubbing at a spot just below his hip.

 _'Bruises, probably,'_  Kelas' mind supplied them diagnoses regardless of severity or treatment viability nowadays. It felt as though they entered a working mind set on the day of the Fire, and never truly left it. 

Looking around, Kelas saw that most of the twelve meter area in front of Pen’s beaten hovel was cleared and by all appearances Pen hadn't exhausted himself yet.

 _'Ah, the wonders of youth,'_  Kelas observed wistfully.

The housing buildings that Pen and the others were residing in were of older architecture, some decades off style and had been constructed out of much more durable materials than many of the newer buildings. It also helped that they were located further away from the city's critical infrastructures, which meant they'd escaped the full brunt of the Dominion's bombings. So fewer toppled buildings or fires. Most of the buildings were only a bit worse for wear, and it ended up providing a heartening number of survivors with shelter from the dust, and the smoke.

Kelas' arrival had almost immediately spurred a wave of weary faces to emerge and start to converge upon their location, some had come from the inside the weathered buildings and others from their outdoor rubble-clearing duties further up the way. The other survivors' deference to them felt different from the professional respect they'd worked for years to attain during their medical career. Any respect they'd received from their colleagues had been hard fought; a constant uphill battle against gendered expectations. Yet here, among Acim's small commune, that respect flowed toward them freely, it was a surreal and sobering experience.

Kelas hadn't been nominated in any official fashion. All the survivors here seemed to have collectively decided that Kelas was the closest thing to an authority figure they could find, that the doctor seemed to know what they was doing, and that was as good a reason as any to follow their lead.

Not one to loiter aimlessly, Doctor Parmak took advantage of the peaceful congregation that their presence had brought about, and started making rounds through the people and following up on any injuries or ailments they remembered. Unfortunately, there was precious little they could actually do for the survivors, due to a lack of medical supplies, aside from giving the afflicted individuals advice they hoped would be followed despite the circumstances.

Parmak had already delegating the job of ensuring the advice given was followed to Pen, when it proved necessary, considering the young man lived here and was able to provide more reliable support.

The first patient was male, tall and around late middle age, with two hairline fractures in his left hand which Kelas had done their best to set and immobilize the extremity with a piece of broken wood and some loose wire around a day ago; "Remember to keep it still and let it rest S'ie Gissem, and should it need to be retied, make sure it's snug and not too tight or you'll lose blood circulation. Also S'ie Pen knows how to retie it properly should you need assistance."

At times like this Parmak could feel Pen observing them, the gaze felt like that of a younger sibling or pupil. 

"Doctor Parmak, help! I'm dying!"

The next patient had been in a panic, a young man desperately pressing at a nasty-looking laceration atop his head with a bloody cloth.

"Head wounds often bleed a lot. Pelar is your name, yes? These types of wounds usually look worse than they actually are," Parmak said while gently examining the laceration, noting the color, the size, and the lack of small debris in the wound, which was all a good sign.

"Do your best to keep it clean and if you can, find something to tie the cloths you have in place until it's clotted. You need consistent pressure on the spot for now, even though it hurts."

"Mhm," Pelar hummed gratefully, mollified by Parmak's words and demeanor. 

Parmak gestured to Pelar's hand pressing the makeshift bandage to his wound, "And press it a  _bit_  harder than that. Yes, good. That should suffice."

" _Shume_ Doctor," Pelar thanked Parmak before scuttling off to search for something he could use to keep pressure on the bandage.

Diligently, Parmak moved on through five more survivors all with varying degrees of minor burns, cuts, broken bones, and other maladies. The doctor remained frustrated that their vast knowledge and skill for each injury would remain underutilized for the time being, as their medical advice and improvised medical aid could only provide so much to their patients. Parmak found their thoughts awhirl with unhelpful medical observations like,  _'Pelar'swound will probably scar.'_ Also the ever-unhelpful,  _'Unless I can get a proper look at Ossan's bloodwork we won't know if her gaupn has been ruptured until it's too late.'_

While sending off another survivor with some medical recommendations for the care of their cracked shoulder blade, Parmak spotted another survivor who'd remained seated on a particularly small but surprisingly flat piece of rubble during their arrival.

 _'Good,'_  Parmak thought happily as they recognized S'ie Dakil Mirra, a rather elderly woman who'd been a housekeeper before the Fire with a preexisting heart condition that required specialized medication. Due to the lack of said medication, the doctor had instructed her to avoid physically exerting herself, and they were always pleased to know when their medical advice was being followed and helpful.

"Glory to the State, Doctor Parmak," her body language was respectful, with her eyes downcast,  _self-inferior._

She really was much older than Parmak, but her status as a housekeeper had ingrained the habit of showing deference to those in higher social rank, like a doctor. Kelas forwent the traditional response to that greeting, instead choosing to bend themselves lower so they could talk with their faces level.

"Did you find any of your medication yet?" Parmak decided to start with the most pressing thing they could remember.

Mirra nodded, "why yes, just yesterday evening _S'ie ta_ Ezall, Teyal, and Berra were able to pick up some of my things after searching my housing building."

"That's good!"

"Hmm, yes," then Mirra's expression went a bit sour, "a lot of it was crushed when the floors above collapsed though, also some water damage S'ie Ezall said."

"How much was left?" Parmak inquired politely.

"Around, five cycles or so," Mirra answered with a small hand gesture that reminded Parmak of their life past, as if to say, ' _not much I can do about that.'_  

"Not that I'm ungrateful, some is better than none, after all. Also, I think I'm going to ration it, doctor."

"That's a very smart plan S'ie Mirra," Parmak complemented genuinely, "I worry about you rationing safely. You were taking a 10 mL sublingual correct?"

With Mirra's affirming nod, they continued, "There's a risk of hypertension if you space out your dose too far. Maybe you should start with every other day, then eventually every two days, and finally every three days. I'll come back and check on any symptoms as often as I can manage."

Ever mindful of their bedside manner Kelas tried to end the conversation on a lighter note, "I can see you're doing well to avoid stressors, or overexerting yourself like I told you; how are you feeling today?"

A rueful little smile at the charming doctor, "I'm doing as to be expected Doctor."

Mirra's tone concisely ended the conversation, so Parmak bid her farewell before quickly moving onto the last medical checks for the of the group.

In the back of their mind Parmak noticed that not a single child was among this small community, and though another group of survivors sheltered closer to Torr had several youths that the doctor was aware of, the observation left a lingering feeling of secondhand grief in their gut.

"Is something wrong, Doctor Parmak?" It was Pen, who'd suddenly entered Parmak's field of vision and snapped the doctor out of their thoughts with a concerned question and a mildly alarmed look on the young orderly's face.

"Ah?" Parmak had been frowning, deeply, they realized, so they relaxed themselves visibly, "No, nothing immediate, just, thinking, about everything; there aren't any children here, you know?"

Tomorrow Parmak would probably go to Torr and repeat what they'd just done here today...

"Mhm," Pen nodded, visibly deflating.

"Nothing to be done for it now I suppose," Parmak drew themselves up again, "it's good that there are this many of us, here, regardless."

"As you say Doctor Parmak," said Pen as he nodded somberly, "also, I have finished with the rest of the checks and there was nothing too pressing or new, injury-wise; and we have two enjoined survivors who came to us last night, Yalix and Esher Gholl,a gardener and a chef. There were some minor burns on Yalix's palms, but otherwise they were both better off than some of the other cases we've seen."

Parmak smiled, it was always good to hear news of more survivors.

Then before Parmak could say more, they noticed the quickly widening berth being given to themself and Pen amid the milling survivors as an expectant hush fell over the gathering.

 _'Time to lead,'_  The thought felt weighty to the doctor as they turned to address the people.

“If there's one thing that I am inspired by on this day, it's the strength of this community," The long-haired doctor could practically feel the thirty-odd expectant gazes land upon them as they spoke, "That we've found one another, and are ready to do what it takes to survive, is an amazing boon. I've heard that you've all set goals to take care of many pressing needs over the past few days, and what a heartening thing that is. Should you be open to it, I have an organizational plan of some tasks we could accomplish today.”

The mood shifted and uncomfortable murmurs rippled through the crowd; their “leader” was indirectly _requesting_ for their cooperation, instead of expecting or demanding it, and the crowd's bafflement was no surprise, so Parmak let the idea sit with them for a moment before speaking again.

"What do we need to do?" It was Pen, raising his voice over the soft sounds of the crowd, despite looking uncomfortable as attention turned to him, brief as that attention was.

But no-one dissented, and the murmurs quieted.

Parmak took it as a sign to continue, “Right now, the three most immediate issues are search and rescue, tending the pyres, and collecting safe water. I know that search and rescue efforts are already underway, and that there are already volunteers maintaining the pyres in southern Torr, but they need all the hands they can get, so any who think they're suited to either of those tasks should go to help with those."

"To address the water shortage, I know a simple method to start water filtration! Have any among you come across a viable water source yet?” Parmak asked.

Almost immediately, someone limped forward, head lowered with ingrained deference and Parmak recognized him immediately. It was S'ie Lokoll Shil, a middle-aged plumber. Parmak remembered doing their best to treat the man's three broken toes, an infected laceration on his left forearm, and a concussion three days prior.

“Six blocks that way," Shil pointed north, almost mumbling his words as if trying to draw the least amount of attention to himself, “there's a converted factory. It's half-collapsed, but I remember installing a new water storage tank there a few years back that could've survived.”

Not even waiting for a response, Shil dismissed himself and quickly disappeared back into throng of people.

“Wonderful! Thank you,” More disconcerted murmurs from the crowd; Parmak had used the most informal wording and implied that they'd considered themself and Shil to be on equal footing in their short interaction. Undeterred, Parmak soldiered on with their defiant informality, “It would probably be best for you to give us details and remain here S'ie Shil, as aggravating your injuries further would only hurt us all in the long run, we need you recovered.”

Parmak paused for a breath, and assumed that Shil nodded his assent as the man was rather short amongst the crowd; even shorter than Garak the doctor would wager.

“If there are four volunteers who would travel with me to the factory Shil spoke of," The doctor addressed the whole crowd once more, "We may be able to have water before sunset. I thank you all for listening, and cooperating.”

Parmak’s blatant attempts at dismantling familiar social dynamics had probably cemented this entire interaction as a surreal sort of experience for everyone, and Parmak decided to break the discomfort before it grew too much. Unwilling to dally any longer, Parmak moved aside to let the rest of the survivors assign themselves their jobs, and wait for any volun-

_'That was quick.'_

Parmak was already being followed by what they assumed were the requested volunteers; and all of them, the doctor remembered, were relatively uninjured and looked rather impatient to get moving.

The body language of this volunteer party was varied. First there was Shirro Kos, his scales had a soft brown tint over the grey, who was.. quiet, just quiet, with hints of twitchy nervousness nipping along the edges of his demeanor. The young man's eyes were often averted even when not addressing or being addressed by anyone and his posture was always angled away from everyone, discouraging interaction. 

 _'Please don't talk to me,'_  The body of Shirro Kos said, loud and clear to anyone who was watching.

The second volunteer was Koth Roli, broad-shouldered and tall. The young man was determined to meet everyone's gaze in a way that would've been considered gauche, if not entirely rude before the Fire. Parmak couldn't remember if they'd learned Roli's job before this entire mess either, it was an afterthought.

 _'There are bigger things to worry about now than perceived rudeness,'_ Parmak ended up scolding themself just as quickly as the observation came.

The next volunteer was the weary horticulturalist Jomil Serin, tall and reedy, his eyes distant and his shoulders and back hunched low as if carrying rubble upon it. Parmak remembered that the man was still searching for his family throughout the city, either he'd found bad news or no news at all, poor man.

Parmak wasn't sure which was worse to be frank.

And the last of their impromptu scouting party was Dal'gel Luvo, a confused and befuddled-looking young man staring out at their world full of fire and death with wide, unbelieving eyes as if the rubble had the answers as to 'why' etched into their jagged, dust-riddled surfaces.

The team assembled, and Parmak looked amongst the throng of people for the knowledgable plumber until-

"S'ie Shil!" It was Roli who called out, waving after the short man he'd managed to spot before Parmak had; the man had been sitting on a piece of rubble near Mirra.

Shil greeted the small group quietly, politely, when they approached him.

"Now S'ie Shil, about the directions to the factory you spoke of..." Kelas inquired gently.

It wouldn't do for them to get lost on their expedition for water, not at all.

 

* * *

 

Despite his more-than-deferential shyness and propensity to mumble, Shil gave Parmak and their small band of volunteers very detailed directions to the factory before the plumber retreated back into the group's housing building shelter.

"Let's move on!" Parmak declared, half to themself, and half to the little group. And like that, they departed further down the street, and Parmack was back to picking through rubble. The doctor remained on the lookout for useful things as well as places that merited a revisit for future scavenging.

Perhaps the Dominion's bombings must have gotten sloppier toward the end of the siege, as several of the streets the five Cardassians took to get to the factory were relatively clear, and required very little scaling or climbing to move onward.

 _'And no unexpected detours,'_ Parmak hummed almost happily at the thought as they and their companions passed another street, barely having to weave through easily avoidable rubble.

"I know that building! Used to be an upscale restaurant, maybe we could look here for food and supplies on the way back!" It seemed Roli was eager to make up for the dearth of chatter by himself, though it was good of him to identify points of interest.

"Good observations S'ie Roli," Parmak replied as they ducked through something like an archway of fallen beams, "perhaps we shall."

A few more blocks of Roli attempting conversation, and they finally arrived. The streets and destroyed buildings had been more ruinous closer to their destination, but Parmak was relieved to find the journey had been less draining than they'd anticipated. The factory building was rather tall and easily-spotted, mostly grey with high walls and a few blown-out windows.

The good news was that the factory wasn't _entirely_ flattened, or on fire.

The collapse of the upper floor above the building's front entrance did little to impede Parmak and the others, what with some ducking under and around the sheet of diagonally-laid second story flood occupying half of what used to be a cramped reception area. Spirits were relatively high for the group made up of two shell-shocked introverts, one socially engaging chatterbox, and Kelas themself.

They ventured into the bowels of the factory, unable to determine what it had once produced. Maybe it's only product was the corpses they happened upon. Perhaps Shil would know. The further in the group went, the worse the factory got. What were once open, spacious factory spaces became maze-like and narrow. Five people was a good number for when extra hands were needed, but when exploring through such cramped space, it was quite unwieldy. 

 _'Time to delegate,'_ Parmak thought while awkwardly starting to work loose a large piece of factory flooring, before turning back to address Roli, Luvo, Kos, and Serin.

"S'ie Roli, I need you and S'ie Luvo to check the staircases," Parmak pointed to where they had passed the stairs earlier, "and S'ie ta Kos, Serin, and I will look for a stable elevator shaft, the power is likely out, but it may give us direct access to the basement."

"Yes, Doctor!" Roli chirped energetically, practically bounding away and nearly leaving an almost dazed Luvo trailing behind him.

"Be on the lookout for useful tools as well!" Parmak called after them.

"We will, Doctor!" Roli's voice echoed back, already distant. Maybe Parmak should have partnered themself with Roli, the man's energy was admirable, useful even, but Parmak couldn't help but worry for the man's impulsiveness. The doctor didn't know Roli well enough to really judge, but in times like these, leaving things up to chance wasn't a very good idea.

Oh well, it was too late to take back the decision now, they supposed.

Parmak, Serin, and Kos were all very quiet, almost deafeningly quiet as the building groaned and creaked around them as the three searched for an elevator shaft. They were not lucky, however, as the one and only elevator had been filled with pieces of the upper floor, and half crushed by the next-door office building that now leaned against the factory like an sloped tower.

The three's collective sigh of disappointment had been the most conversation that they had managed since splitting the party.

"We'll wait here for S'ie ta Roli and Luvo," Parmak said as they led the half-group back to the factory's reception area, "hopefully they had better fortune than we."

Then with a grunt of assent, Serin cleared himself a small place to sit on the floor to catch his breath and Kos seemed content to pick through the remains of some crushed furniture.

Parmak found themself looking around the surprisingly unbroken reception desk, before noticing something on the wall blocked by a sheet of fallen ceiling and flooring. Some heaves and shuffles of the wreckage revealed a map of the building, encased in a wood frame with a face of broken glass that was bolted to the back wall.

 _'Hmmm, four floors, two_ _above-ground and two sublevels with the bottom floor as the basement,'_ Parmak noted, _'_ _the basement should be-'_

"Doctor Parmak!"

It was Roli, popping up out of seemingly nowhere and nearly scaring the souls out of everyone, Parmak included; the doctor could've sworn that they heard Serin squeak like a small child.

"Yes?" Parmak tried not to smile, it was only slightly funny.

"The stairwells are only partially collapsed!" Could a grown Cardassian still bounce on his heels? Roli practically was, "right S'ie Luvo?"

"Mmph, yes," the aforementioned Luvo nodded stiffly.

"The elevator shaft was a disappointment but I've found a building map," Parmak mentioned, indicating the uncovered map on the wall, "there's two sublevels, and the water tank should be at the lowest level."

"Time to dig?" It was Kos that time, following as the five picked their way through the shambled hallways to the aforementioned stairwell.

"Time to dig," Parmak said with a grim sort of determination.

All five reached the stairwell, and descended until the rubble was impassable. Parmak stood there facing the barrier between them and what seemed like the only water source in the city. Wasting no time, Parmak shifted the first stone, one of many, and their companions fell into a single file, working together in excavating a path.

It took five hours.

Five hours and Parmak’s momentum had begun to wane, their movements slowing, and more out of breath with each shift and passing of another piece of duricrete. Also noticing that their leader starting to fatigue, the other four had stopped trying to conceal their growing fatigue as well, which the doctor felt was probably for the best.

There wasn't much use for pride on Cardassian Prime right now anyhow.

 _'If it weren't a challenge, then it may not be worth the cost,' T_ hey thought idly as the younger, more hale of the group continued as the doctor crawled back out of the tunnel they'd made in order to take a break before they collapsed. Parmak found themself thinking back to their grandmother's words of wisdom more and more these days. 

But _by the stars_ did this entire ordeal make Parmak wish they were a decade younger, their aching knees and the burning muscles would probably complain much less. Those years at the labor camp stole the best of their health.

They'd been taking periodic breaks, each of them at the doctor's insistence, but this was the first that Parmak themself took.

...At least Garak wasn't present to poke at the little hypocrisy.

They reached the first sub-level with relative ease, it was however much more complicated beyond that point. Parmak allowed themself roughly twenty minutes in the building's entrance to breathe and warm themself in the sun. 

Upon returning to the forefront of the excavation efforts, it took another half hour until they'd finally managed to breach the basement. Together, they'd created a safe passage just wide enough for two adults to squeeze past one another, but at no point could anyone stand, the highest part was a low, awkward middle ground between crouching and standing.

Parmak could feel the uncomfortable rawness of their palms from the hours of rough treatment and their knees were stiff as they'd remained on all fours for the majority of the dig. Between the five Cardassians there were new tears in already bedraggled clothing, an abundance of scrapes, and not a single one of them was free of dust, dirt, or some form of grime.

They hadn't brought a portable lamp, not that they had access to one, but the passage was dimly lit by the light reflecting down from outside on the upper floors. There was roughly a one to two meter circle of low-visibility around the tunnel opening into the basement before it faded into complete darkness.

_Drip-drip-drip..._

Looking around, Parmak could make out the floor, or rather, the shallow pooling of water that filled what they assumed to be the entire basement. Also, when Parmak squinted hard enough, they could just make out the blotchy shape of the water tank they'd come to find... Or another piece of rubble, with all the wreckage upstairs Parmak wouldn't put it past their luck for it to just end up being a piece of crumbly duricrete.

A sibilant sigh escaped the doctor's throat.

"Back out everyone," Parmak instructed the line behind them, urging a very still Luvo to to crawl back out of the cramped tunnel to follow the other three, "there's water, but it probably still needs filtering and we need to transport it."

Up in the scattered light of day, Roli needed little, if any, prompting to go scavenging for materials to test the water for an electrical current and Parmak sent Serin and Kos to pick through the factory wreckage for more supplies or materials that could be used to transport, and filter the water.

"-have I left out anything?" Parmak finished off their list, gazing at the two men expectantly.

A beat.

"No, Doctor," Kos responded with a nod, "you were thorough, we'll do our best."

Then the pair left, leaving Parmak with... No-one? where was Luvo? He hadn't followed Roli or departed with Serin and Kos-

...  _Slet_.

Luvo must've gone back into the tunnel, down to the basement. Parmak began an urgent descent, practically falling onto their hands and knees again into the dim tunnel, down, down, and  _down_. Until finally, they could hear the scratching and scuffling of shoes and hands pressing against metal and duricrete. 

"Luvo!" Parmak called out to the dark, person-shaped figure ahead that they could barely make out, "what are you doing? It's not safe!"

"Mmm," A wordless grunt was the young man's only reply as he kept ahead of the elder Cardassian, still crawling.

“We need to filter it!" Whether Luvo was thirstier than Parmak knew or stubborn, or whatever was possibly going through the other man's fool head, going back to sip at possibly poisoned or electrified water was too much of a risk for Parmak to allow, "it could poison you, or worse! It could-!”

The doctor’s cut themself off as they noticed that further ahead, Luvo had stopped, as the younger man had must've reached the shallow edge of the submerged basement. Suddenly spurred on by another panicked rush of adrenaline, pushing past soreness and exhaustion, Parmak was gaining on Luvo fast and could finally see more than just a splotchy outline of legs.

Unfortunately, Parmak was still too far to reach.

“Please don’t!” Parmak pleaded once more, louder now, practically thrusting their entire body forward and-

Luvo's hand touched the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Markala: Parmak's Survival Item was a Bitchin' Pair of Boots™ (only Naked & Afraid fans will know what im reffing).  
> Rú: Just cuz an OC has a name doesn't mean they are important. Don't worry about memorizing them all.
> 
> Words:  
> S'ie - Civilian title  
> S'ie ta - Multiple civilians  
> Slet - Fuck  
> Kati- Shit  
> Shume- Thank You  
> Cycle- Roughly a month  
> Gaupn- Organ used to convert trace minerals for the Cardassian body


	3. No More No Less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no respite to be found from the horrors of war, none 't all.

Nothing in all their years as a doctor had prepared Parmak for the sight of a live electrocution.

Luvo's body had gone taut, entirely stiff and startlingly still as every muscle contracted violently to freeze him in place, his hand still submerged underwater. There was no sound in the tunnel but the doctor's own breathing and scuffling as they hurriedly crawled forward.

 _'This is bad,'_  The older Cardassian thought with worry, they couldn't hear Luvo breathing and the young man was already probably experiencing severe ventricular fibrillation-!  _'Slet, of course the water's electrified! And of course the fool doesn't listen the one time it actually matters!'_

Acting quickly and twisting awkwardly in the enclosed space, Parmak practically ripped their shirt off before looping it around of one of Luvo’s ankles, taking extra care not to touch him lest Parmak need rescue themselves, before finally yanking the man back as hard as they possibly could. Luvo was only dragged back by half a meter, but it was far enough to pull his hand out of the water.

"We need help down here! Luvo's been hurt!" The doctor hollered up through the tunnel, "Roli? Serin? Kos? Anyone?!"

Parmak looked back down at the unmoving Luvo with concern, slipping their shirt back on as they shouted again.

"Answer me!"

No answer came but Parmak's own urgent echo.

 _'Kati,'_  Parmak wanted to curse at the universe, because that meant they were going to have to drag a deadweight Luvo up to the surface by themselves,  _'so much for an easy trip.'_

Luvo was laying on his side, his head was limp and his face turned away towards the basement; it was too dark to see if his eyes were open or not. The young man's limbs were sprawled akimbo, twitching intermittently, and Parmak noted that the man was unresponsive to outside stimuli, what with Parmak dragging him out of the water and shouting just moments prior.

Luvo wasn't out of the dunes yet, however. First they needed to make sure he was breathing and had a pulse. 

Parmak determinedly dragged themself to kneel alongside Luvo's dark, prostrate form and hovered an assessing hand just over his nose and mouth to check if he was breathing. The little puffs of the young man's breaths that ghosted against the doctor's palm filled them with a sense of relief, then Parmak let their raised hand fall to Luvo's chest as it rose and fell with each breath.

 _'Definitely breathing at least,'_  Parmak noted, quickly taking their hand back and brushing off the feeling of discomfort at the nigh-inappropriate contact. But needs must, Kelas supposed, they were familiar with the unique brand of intimacy born of life and death situations and compared to the alternative, a bit of social overstepping was worth it for a better outcome in the long run. 

Next, the doctor felt against Luvo's neck for a pulse, and although they didn't have any sort of timer to find an exact rate, Parmak found a roughly normal resting pulse rate beating against their fingertips. After that, they carefully pried open one of the man’s eyelids in attempt to assess pupil dilation, but the tunnel's lighting was so dim that it proved useless. Next they needed to move the patient to a safe location. 

_'Seems more force may be necessary.'_

“Luvo! Luvo, I need you to wake up,” Parmak patted the man’s cheek sharply, “I can’t get you out of here alone Luvo, not without hurting you further. Wake up!” Then the doctor gave a sharp pinch on their new patient's exposed shoulder ridge, trying to jar the young Cardassian awake.

Luvo didn't stir.

Parmak stopped to reassess the environment. The section of the passage they were currently in was particularly narrow and attempting to turn Luvo around could end up being risky. The young man was completely dead weight and that alone would make the labor of moving him difficult; worse yet the tunnel was as short as it was wide, and Parmak not having room to stand, where they were had just enough room to crouch which meant that gaining enough leverage to drag Luvo out would be grueling.

 _'Dragging him out by his feet, unceremoniously is the fastest option,'_  was Parmak's next thought, but quickly dismissed. The countless ethical concerns overruled their urgency. No, Luvo needed to be turned and taking into account the dozens of uneven surfaces and sharp pieces jutting along the tunnel walls on the way up, not to mention the sharp incline at the tunnel's entrance, a stretcher would be essential. 

Speaking of the incline at the stairwell entrance, Parmak wasn't sure if they were strong enough to get Luvo up on their own without blocking themself in, and letting injured patients simply, flop off a fallen pillar in order to make way was poor etiquette. Considering the way the tunnel still echoed, the rest of the group was probably still off on their assignments, and Parmak couldn't quite count on them to return anytime soon either.

"Hrm," Parmak hummed quietly as they closed their eyes to focus. There had been plenty of things stashed in the rubble, they just needed to remember if there were things outside that could be turned into a makeshift stretcher...

A flash of memory, Parmak remembered seeing some old curtains made of heavy fabric had sticking out of a junk pile just outside the tunnel, a little ways off from the stairwell entrance where the group had excavated their way down into the flooded basement. Maybe that and Parmak’s shirt could be tied to some poles? And while they were on the surface Parmak could call the rest of the party again. None the less, Parmak knew they'd eventually have to turn Luvo around so he could be moved headfirst; and since the ethically bound doctor refused to consider dragging a patient on a stretcher feet first and with their head down, they might as well turn the man right then, in the tunnel, by themself.

_'All I ask is one day without easily-preventable injuries, one.'_

So without further ado, Parmak managed to maneuver Luvo by the hips so that the young man's back was flush against the tunnel wall, then they hooked an arm around Luvo's shoulder blades and another under his neck, then tried to fold him so Luvo's shoulders would come to rest near the man’s knees while maintaining careful control of the limp movements of Luvo's head and neck. All was going well, until Luvo’s shoulders somehow managed to jam awkwardly against the far wall where the passage grew narrow again, because of course Luvo was one tall specimen. Finally, they reached up and grasped the injured fool by the wrists and started out with gentle tugs in the direction of the tunnel entrance, occasionally stopping to gently rearrange the man's lolling head.

"Urrgh," Parmak groaned, frustration quickly mounting as they released their hold and grasped firmly at Luvo’s hips again; and channeling all their fear, exhaustion and turmoil, they gave Luvo a rough shove. 

_Scrrrrrhsssh-_

There was distressing scraping sound, then finally the unconscious man was freed. Panting with exertion, Parmak bent the young man's legs and tucked his feet back, before finally, with one last hauling tug on the wrists, Luvo was fully turned around.

_Whumpf!_

Kelas collapsed back, leaning against a particularly flat section of tunnel wall, breathing deeply and trying to becalm their frantic heartbeat whilst assessing Luvo's breathing and pulse with an outstretched hand once again.

 _'Same as before,'_ Parmak noted, with a small note of jealousy,  _'almost as if he's just laid down for a nap.'_

With fingers pressed against the man's neck, Parmak steadied themself, and waited until their own heartbeat neared Luvo’s. Then Parmak set their mind to the next order of business: creating a stretcher to carry Luvo back to the enclave.

"I'll be back soon, S'ie Luvo," Parmak assured, despite the man being unable to hear them, "keep breathing, alright?"

Some minor scraping and bending later, Parmak had turned around to single mindedly crawl, yet again, up to the surface. Minutes later, the light of topside filled the path ahead, causing Parmak to blink as their eyes adjusted. Exiting the tunnel, Parmak stood hollering once again.

"Luvo's been injured! Come quickly and help!"

Then without waiting for a response, the doctor practically tore through the junk pile where they'd remembered seeing the discarded curtains covering from earlier. The curtains were made of thicker and more durable fabric than clothing, but the stitching looked a bit cheap and there was only enough to at least support the top half of Luvo’s body. Upon rummaging further, the next junk pile yielded two hewn poles of rather durable composite alloy, possibly once part of the walls.

Grasping the bottom, unruffled edge of the curtain, Parmak tore a strip from it and used it to secure one end of each pole together to form an acute angle; and having once been a curtain, one end of the fabric had the top sewn into an approximation of a loop, which allowed Parmak to slip one of the poles through rather easily. The other end however, was un-looped, and the curtain was altogether too short to be knotted onto the other pole, meaning Parmak needed to figure out how to make holes in it without destroying the integrity of the material.

Suffering no shortage of ingenuity however, they realized that there was no end of sharp, pointy bits sticking out of the walls at least, and they could use one to poke some holes into the curtain. They did so quickly, leaving reasonable distance from the torn edge of the curtain just in case the holes themselves tore further once bearing Luvo's weight, then finally the doctor looped the second pole through the holes, over then under, like sewing a stitch. 

The end result was a triangular construct of two poles tied together at one end with a rough stretch of cloth tied between them, also it wasn't too shabby a result for such a rush job. Parmak had no time to congratulate themself, however, there was a patient to get to safety after all. Parmak noted that they'd have to drag the stretcher behind them, keeping low to clear the tunnel, and also keeping the handles close together enough to not catch on the passage walls.

 _'This is going to be awful.'_ They lamented as they brought the makeshift stretcher down to the tunnel entrance. 

By now the doctor was quite familiar with the unevenness of the passage and was thus able to navigate it much quicker than before. They barely felt hindered by the stretcher, pushing it recklessly ahead of them in their descent. Once again enshrouded in the dim light, Parmak reached Luvo and noticed that the man had rolled over onto his stomach while Parmak was away, but was otherwise fine.

One last time, Parmak attempted to rouse the unconscious man by shaking his shoulders, several slaps to the face, and a loud command of, "Luvo, wake up!"

All their attempts were unsuccessful though, so the doctor placed the stretcher alongside him and with some difficulty managed to roll the deadweight of Luvo over so he was laid on his back, and properly positioned on top of the stretcher. Next the doctor stripped off their shirt again with the intent to use it to restrain Luvo's legs against the joint.

As Parmak reached out stretching along the length of the prone body beneath them so they could bind Luvo’s feet to the posts, their exposed back rubbed painfully against unyielding and uneven composite of the tunnel ceiling. Even with the relatively comfortable dimensions of the tunnel, Parmak still scraped their back up against the top of the tunnel. It seemed that two Cardassians was the exact height for that stretch of tunnel, but as painful as the experience was, leaving Luvo behind wasn't an option. So putting aside concerns for his own safety, the doctor finished securing their patient before pausing to collect themself as the adrenaline-fueled strength seemed to fade away and exhaustion crept through their limbs.

Luvo was ready to go, and Parmak was pressed tightly against him, facing the opposite direction, with their unclothed back flush against the top wall. The doctor's scales, just as any other Cardassian’s, were fine and soft at their back and tougher along the spine for protection. However, they were patterned downward, meaning that dragging their back along the wall in the opposite direction of how their scales lay could surely dislodge, or rip off, even durable spinal scales.

In fact, they could feel some of the scales had already been caught on something, loosened, promising sure pain upon Parmak freeing themself. There was no room to continue forward, and then turn around. Additionally the tunnel wasn't wide enough for them to try and roll from one side to another. No, their only choice was to reverse course, no matter how damaging it will be. 

“You need to do this Kelas," they urged themself on, "you must.”

Three forceful jerks backward freed the doctor, dislodging some, and tearing several, scales out entirely.

"Ah!" Parmak cried out as hot, sharp agony tore through the empty spaces of their back. Curling themself forward in a fetal position, shins and forehead pressed against the ground, Parmak tried to collect themself.

They counted their breaths, letting the pain flow and throb until it was bearable again, which happened sometime around number one-seventy-nine. Uncurling themself, Parmak reached forward and checked Luvo's vitals again, and found the man still breathing steadily, and his pulse stronger but slower than before.

 _'At least this whole rescue attempt will be worth the while,'_  Parmak thought hopefully. Now for the hard part. They was aware that in order to transport Luvo through the disorderly tunnel, they'd have to alternate between kneeling and going forward in a waddling crouch, as there wasn't enough height at any point in the tunnel for them to maintain movement for more than short distances. But they would do everything possible to give Luvo a fighting chance.

“I think it's time we got out of here, don't you think S'ie Luvo?” The doctor asked rhetorically as they turned and grasped a pole in each hand. They lifted the weight of the stretcher and took a few crouching steps forward.

The stretch and exertion of Parmak's shoulders and back muscles garnered much complaint in the form of pain where their scales had been torn. Reflexively, they felt their their jaw clench tightly to muffle their vocalizations. But, if they clenched too tightly, Parmak knew they'd probably end up cracking some teeth. Making a conscious effort, they forced their jaw to relax, and let a suffering grunt escape their throat.

 _'Nobody around to hear me anyways,'_ Parmak chided themself almost glibly,  _'as if an unconscious man or the rubble are about to judge me.'_

...

Minutes passed like hours and time ceased to be, there was a small infinity stretched between Parmak and the surface as they dragged Luvo one struggling decimeter at a time. Unfiltered, their grunts of exertion echoed almost deafeningly inside the tunnel. Lost in the burning rhythm of struggling forward, the doctor almost didn’t hear it when their name was called down from the surface.

"-Doctor! Doctor Parmak!"

In fact Parmak didn’t fully register Roli’s presence until the man had climbed down in front of them and was obstructing the sunlight ahead. Then Roli took stock of the situation, Luvo unconscious while being dragged on a stretcher by a shirtless and bloody doctor, and without a word simply gestured to take the stretcher handles from the doctor.

Parmak relented, before realizing that in order to grant Roli access to Luvo, they'd have to scrape their back against another damn wall.

But good, useful Roli, instead squeezed past the doctor himself, as such Parmak only had to press their back against the wall for a few moments without moving; though the sudden pressure against the open, torn scales, still made Parmak's teeth grit and their vision blur for a few seconds.

Trusting Roli to situate themselves, Parmak gathered their wits and begin their crawl up the last twenty-five meters.

_Flumph!_

The usually graceful doctor practically threw themselves out of the tunnel. 

In the open air again, with their patient safely on the way, Parmak immediately dropped onto their stomach on the ground, and ignored the uneven rubble poking into them. For some moments, they just let the light of the summer sun, shining through the holes in the ceiling, warm them. They let their muscles, that had been tense since the moment Parmak'd watched Luvo dip his hand into the flooded basement, finally relax, taking any respite they could. 

The end of one seemingly endless struggle had finally come, and Parmak was all too ready to surrender to the sweet embrace of sleep, but the thought was interrupted by the sound of Roli emerging from the passage only minutes after the doctor, heaving the stretcher out into the open and bringing it alongside them.

It wasn't the time for Parmak to rest yet.

_'Not yet, not yet.'_

Rolling onto their side, Parmak reached over to the still sleeping Luvo to check on his pulse and breathing again.

Still steady.

“Roli,” the doctor's voice cracked with exhaustion, “I owe you my gratitude.”

“It is done,” Roli brushed off the comment brusquely before crouching low to get a better look at the two Cardassians that lay before him.

“I need to lay down for a time, please watch his breathing and pulse, compare it to your pulse to make sure it's steady," Parmak instructed before explaining, "the water was electrified and he touched it before I could stop him. He is at high risk of going into cardiac arrest for a while, keep him calm and still. Wake me if something happens.”

“I will watch him, Doctor," Roli assured resolutely, "rest now; we'll depart upon Kos and Serin's return.”

"Thank you, Roli," Kelas half-mumbled as they found themself nodding off next to their newest patient.

Small mercies.

 

* * *

 

"-Doctor Parmak?" 

Someone was calling their name.

Some time had passed, Kelas realized upon awakening, the sun was in a different position. Then the doctor noticed that they were lying stomach-down on a ragged mat, next to a similarly-placed Luvo lying on his back, before coming to the conclusion that they were back in Acim’s community; Kelas and Luvo were both indoors and laid out near a doorway.

The strategic placement, designed for a quick exit in case the building collapsed, was not lost on Parmak.

“Doctor, you’re awake, good," the sound of Acim's voice caused Parmak to roll gingerly onto their side to face the orderly as he spoke, "we're still in need of your assistance.”

“Yes, of course," Parmak responded groggily before questioning, "but pray tell, how did I get back here?”

“Roli was unable to wake you when it was time to leave, and the three decided to bring you both back," Acim answered perfunctorily, "it's been two hours since, and they were able to go back and pump out the standing water into a drum for your inspection... Also! Once the basement floor dries, we hope to be able to secure the power source so we can safely inspect the tank.”

Parmak sighed with deep relief, “So how may I help?”

“You said you knew a method to purify the water enough to drink? We'd like to begin as soon as you're able,” Acim explained as he crouched down to help the older Cardassian sit up, while also producing a single piece of dried meat and one dried Le'sa fruit, “please eat these.”

The doctor accepted the tidbits of food with no dearth of gratefulness, and between bites asked, “How has Luvo been faring?”

“I've been monitoring his vitals, and no issues have arisen as of yet," Acim reported professionally, as if the young man were still working in the hospital, "nearly an hour ago he awoke, briefly, but has been sleeping since.”

Acim's assessment would suffice for now, as there wasn't much else that could be done until Luvo was conscious enough to self report or until Parmak performed a health assessment of his own on the young man.

"Any burns? Perhaps on his feet?" Parmak inquired while they tried to savor the taste of the dried Le'sa, "the electrical current could've exited from there."

"I didn't check," Acim looked down at his feet, "I apologize for my negligence, Doctor."

"I hadn't expected you to know, S'ie Acim," Parmak said, trying to soothe.

Acim still looked a bit ashamed, regardless, as the conversation seemed to meet its end.

All too soon, the food was gone and Parmak had to rise so they could be productive. They were still shirtless, typically an unacceptable state of dress for going out in public, but until they could get help with their injuries, a shirt would only aggravate their wounds.

"Hrhhm," Parmak grumbled with discomfort, albeit very quietly.

Ambulatory once more, the doctor located then sent off Serin and Kos bring the building materials they'd collected during the recent expedition. Then Parmak went back outside to find a suitable place to sit and work, doing their level best to ignore the pain receptors singing a chorus of complaints.

Serin and Kos arrived silently, depositing their haul near the doctor's impromptu workspace, followed by Roli, Acim, and a small crowd of curious onlookers. Parmak soon found out that they couldn't stretch or bend much without sending shooting pains lancing through their back, so the doctor ended up giving their companions step-by-step instructions on treating the water threefold. First, create a rock and sand-based water filter, then constructing a container to treat the water via UV light exposure, before finally boiling the water to kill any remaining bacteria.

"-And those chemicals, should we ever locate some, would be used to treat our drinking water as a final step," Parmak finished.

"Doctor, when gathering the water from the basement, there were several dead animals," Roli reported grimly, "also small jug containers of industrial chemicals, all open and floating."

“Then we can’t use the water," Parmak said, mood souring considerably, "the filters we have won’t be enough to make it safe... At best, maybe we can filter it enough to be used in the Ash Gardens along with the animal remains as compost."

Watching all those faces fall at their assessment, Kelas' already-fractured heard simply ached.

 _'Hope, they all need hope,'_ The doctor's thoughts rambled,  _'I need some hope too.'_

“Does anyone have water that we can filter now?" Parmak tried to inject as much of their waning optimism into their words as possible, "tomorrow, perhaps if the basement's dried, we could retrieve water from the tank and filter that next. We also need to sanitize a large container or several smaller ones so that we can store the clean water in; there's still much to do while we wait!”

It seemed that Parmak was successful, their words of encouragement having the desired effect upon the people’s spirits, but only just. The desperate, hungry looks of hope staring out of each and every one of the survivors' faces before them was the best the doctor could hope for now.

“Also, if there is anyone who wishes to learn some medical care skills from me, please join me while I examine Luvo," Parmak added quickly, the educational opportunities for medical care would be numerous in the coming days after all, "there are likely very few doctors now, and the more people learn the basics, the better off everyone will be.”

And with that, Parmak stood and made their way back inside to the unconscious form of Luvo, still laying on the ragged mat.

Much to the doctor's delight, one person had broken away from the rest and followed them. It was a young woman, Ijo Aske, a bit taller than the average Cardassian woman, and with brown hair.

She introduced herself by blurting out, “I know that I’m expected to offer because I’m a woman, but I hope you know I’m not doing it because of that. And that I am not uncomfortable learning science from a man-”

“I am not a man, and neither am I a woman," Kelas cut her off, as kindly as they could, before slowly easing themself back to the ground at the patient’s side, "and your first lesson is to leave the past in the past; there's a new Cardassia emerging, and you must discover what part you'll play in it.”

Leaving no space for her to respond, Parmak immediately launched into a recounting of Luvo’s rescue and explaining the medical side of things while they performed the health check. The burns at the top of Luvo's right foot let the doctor explain to their attentive student why and how such wounds occurred, and then the best way to treat them. She was then taught how to take Luvo's vitals, and Parmak further expounded upon the high risk of heart attack that victims of electrocution faced, what a heart attack looked like, and how to respond to one. Despite how the survivors' lack of medical supplies meant there was little that could be done about it, but the doctor felt it was essential information to impart to their student none the less.

"Now, watch while I try determine the condition of the scales on my back," Parmak said, quizzing the young lady as they worked.

"That looks painful," Aske commented bluntly, offhandedly, before a look of embarrassment lit up her face, "um, sorry, Doctor Parmak."

"Bedside manner is also an important skill for a medical worker to cultivate," Parmak responded lightly, before continuing with their awkward self-inspection of their own wounds, "but yes, yes it does."

While the doctor didn't have enough confidence in her to assist them with their back, letting her observe the process of re-aligning the easy to reach scales, and reviewing the unavailable salves that could help with healing as well as how a few could be made naturally, was good for her.

...

"-do you think you can remember how to treat those infections? And how they arise?" Parmak asked, finishing their covering of basic infections that could occur with scale-related wounds like theirs, especially poorly treated ones.

"Yes, Doctor!" Aske chirped, "poorly treated scales equal terrible infections. Disinfect, keep dry, and clean!"

"I'll test you later," Parmak promised, leaving the time frame in mystery, "you'll watch over Luvo then?"

"Very well, Doctor," Aske affirmed with a small, respectful nod.

"Good," Parmak said as they stood up and retrieved their shirt, still folded near the mat they'd woken up on earlier, "it seems then, that I must take my leave; thank you for you attentiveness, S'ie Aske."

A small smile graced the woman's lips, then she gave a small wave of farewell before turning her attention back onto her very first patient.

Kelas went back outside, in the distance they could see Acim and Roli talking and working with one another, rather well it seemed.

Good.

“I must leave now, my friends, but I have one final request to make of you both," Parmak asked, approaching and addressing the two, "please begin recording who lives in the area, names, ages, locations, skills, and health statuses, to make sure nobody goes missing, or is overlooked when we start to share resources. I'm coordinating with more encampments of survivors and can't possibly remember it all.”

Roli nodded without looking up from the two's work, while Acim looked thoughtful as Parmak continued.

“Also, along with locating and sanitizing a container for water," Parmak straightened some wrinkles on the folded shirt draped over one of their arms, "we need to start looking for food as well, and once we establish off-world communications, we'll need storage space for any supplies we get.”

Roli barely seemed to be listening, still hyperfocused on his work.

"We understand," Acim assured with a sigh, "those are all very important goals."

Then, rather brazenly, Acim raised and held out his palm in a declaration of friendship, a grinning Parmak responded to it in kind, after a moment of surprised hesitation.

“We'll make it through this,” Parmak said before departing, each of their steps careful, and calculated.

Looking up, Parmak could see that the day's adventures had taken most of the daylight with it, and if Kelas were lucky, they would make it to Garak's shed by sundown, or a little after. There was no other survivor that Kelas would trust to fix his scales; frankly speaking Garak had the requisite skill set and willingness required for the task. The path between Acim's survivor community and Garak's shed was growing more familiar by the day, the doctor's new normal, as their journey to the hospital to work had once been...

Kelas tripped.

In their bout of wistfulness, they'd stepped on an something loose and uneven, and they'd fallen rather painfully onto their hands and knees.

 _'I suspect that my knees don't look any better than my hands do,'_  Parmak chided themself gruffly, picking themself up and continuing on.

The journey back to Garak's shed felt achingly slow, but was also uneventful, thankfully; Kelas had had enough adventure for one day. They stopped once again in front of the remains of several former restaurants from earlier, debating with themself on whether to scavenge now or simply continue on.

Was it worth the risk?

 _'I've no food, no water, might as well,'_ Kelas thought as they went inside the first restaurant to give it a quick once-over.

The interior wasn't too bad actually, it looked a lot worse than it was with the glass everywhere, and spoiled remains of food of its former diners. Shuffling around in the front, Kelas found a small, still-sealed bottle of water lying on the floor. That would suffice, as they realized that there was little time to get back to the shed before sundown.

The little bottle in Kelas' hand had roughly five-hundred milliliters of untainted hope inside it that the doctor didn't have before, and that was comforting.

 _'Maybe I'll be able to clean my back after all,'_  thought the doctor with the smallest hint of a smile as they carried on, ever on.

By the time the monument could be seen from the distance, the setting sun had cast long shadows everywhere. There were also a few mourners idling around, visibly departing for the night as nobody wished to be stuck traveling in the dark.

The ruins of Tain's old house lay so close now, groaning, creaking like an old skeleton, loomed over the desert. Before the war, Kelas had never seen Tain's house, but from the appearance, general contents of the rubble, and age-old rumors, it was likely a very grand old house. A manor really.

 _'Why, a week ago,'_  Kelas thought somberly,  _'I couldn't have even walked this very street without fearing for my life.'_

They walked up the last incline towards Garak's lonely shed nestled among what used to be the gardens of Tain's estate, and Kelas mused on just how much could change in a week.  

_'Wild world.'_

 

* * *

 

Sitting and leaning against one of the outside walls of Tolan's shed, Elim Garak spotted the approach of the closest thing to a friend he had on this planet, their broad form hazily framed by the strange, gentle glow of a setting Cardassian sun. When the doctor was close enough Garak assessed Parmak's condition to be much worse than when they'd left earlier that morning, what with their bedraggled hair, bared chest, and bloodied arms and back, along with a noticeable limp in their walk up to Tolan's shed, on top of being covered in dirt and dust.

"You tried to save someone again," His statement was stern. Normally Garak tried not to pressure Parmak, lest he tear open old hurts, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care. The former exile only suspected that was the case of course, but the doctor before him was just as hopelessly reckless and optimistic as another doctor Garak regarded fondly.

Kelas' only response was to turn a cheeky little grin. 

"And should you die, what then?" Garak snapped, irritation mounting, both at Kelas themself and at the blatant loss of his own veneer of emotional control. 

"I know," Kelas said, unconcerned by his companion's fretting as they looked around the outside of the shed for a place to sit.

"Sit here," His offer sounding more like an instruction, with more irritation than protectiveness, and gestured at some rubble Garak had specifically moved earlier to serve as something like a seat. 

Kelas held out a bottle, presumably filled with water. Giving the doctor something akin to a glare, Garak took the proffered container, and began the task of removing the smaller, visible debris from Kelas' back wounds without being asked to. 

"It was worth it," Kelas justified with a grimace. 

"Debatable," Garak grumbled tersely, wholly focused on the task at hand. 

"You don't even know who it was," Kelas began to argue, turning to look back at Garak, "or what happened." 

"I don't need to know," Garak's fingers brushed away some dirt from under another loosened scale, before pushing Kelas' face forward and away.  

"You're angry," Kelas said.

"How observant," Garak remarked curtly, suddenly very interested in examining a particularly mangled scale. 

A small silence bloomed between the two of them as Kelas felt Garak tweak at something painful enough to make the older Cardassian to let out a pained gasp. 

"What do you see?" Parmak nearly stuttered out.

Garak walked in front of Kelas and flattened his hands in order to mimic the shape of the spinal scales. He went into detail about the two large scales that had been forced into one another, causing one to crack horizontally, allowing the other scale to wedge itself between said crack, exposing several sensitive nerve endings, and how Garak suspected there was also a fair amount of debris beneath.

"-They need to be pulled apart," Garak said with finality.

"I'm mostly concerned with accidentally removing them entirely in that effort," Kelas thought aloud, "and I can't afford to keep the area sanitized until my next shed."

"I'll have to pull the wedged one out, straighten them, and then lift them to examine underneath," Garak stated flatly, his expression closing, "I'll do my best to clean the smaller cuts first, but you should lay down after so I can fix the spinal scales."

The sudden suppression of the man's expression normally would have the doctor's thoughts segueing into a contemplation on the evolving nature of their interactions, but their thoughts were quickly derailed as Garak's careful ministrations brought pain as he removed more chunky bits of debris from the remaining smaller abrasions.

Task almost done, Garak suddenly got up and briefly disappeared into his shed, only to return with what Kelas assumed to be the man's own sleeping mat, and laid it out...

For Kelas.

Not one given to ungratefulness, Kelas caught their breath, gently eased themself down onto the mat, and padded their face with their battered hands. Their bout of sleep earlier that day had left them with a lingering tightness in their left shoulder that extended up to the left side of their jaw. Kelas' medical expertise laid in emergency care and surgery, they hadn't been a general practitioner or rheumatologist. So they knew which muscle was currently hurting them, but aside from getting a massage or stretching they weren't sure how completely fix it beyond that. 

_'Seems I'll be sleeping on my stomach for the foreseeable future.'_

Garak knew that this would be painful for the doctor, and that toying with a subject's scales had been a classic technique of his professional repertoire. However, he was considerably less experienced in helping fix the damage.  

The former spy looked down at his friend, exposed, and vulnerable under his hands as Garak loomed over them, the ability and opportunity to inflict great pain at his fingertips.

 _'Two decades ago, this interaction would have ended very differently,'_ Garak thought to himself, feelings he couldn't quite define simmering quietly in the background of his mind,  _'Will moments like this happen again, I wonder?'_  

Garak moved to sit astride Kelas' hips, fiddling with the cap of the water bottle, now only half-full, dithering for a few seconds, if only to remember the details of the moment as he inhaled a single, steadying breath.

And so, Elim's world narrowed to the scales under his care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le'sa- a fruit


	4. Bygones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Parmak isn't okay at all, Tain visits his son, and Garak tackles this 'Truth' thing with mixed results.

Parmak  _doesn't_  scream.

The doctor wasn't willing to admit that their silence was maintained purely out of pride, as the shooting pinpricks of pain made their limbs tremble from the effort to stifle any sound. The doctor's scream is something that Garak himself has never been made privy to, not even over the course of the fateful interrogation all those years ago, and Parmak vowed to never let their scream be learnt by the man. 

 _'Would it even reach him though?'_ Parmak mused idly through closed eyes and grit teeth,  _'whether the scream came from friend, foe, or bystander?  Would he feel it? Or is that part long since dead?'_

Parmak could tell when Garak had straightened a scale, as the pain would shift from a sharp sting to something of a low-burning sensation. Then almost all too long after, the worst of it was over, and finally the cool sensation of lukewarm water being flushed across the raw nerves of their back helped soothe the worst of the burning. 

 _'Sweet, merciful relief,'_  The doctor thought quietly.

Despite being in such close-quarters over the past week, the topic of their shared history remained unbreached, sitting between the two Cardassians much like an old ghost. And judging by their interactions thus far, Garak had shown no ill will towards Parmak, as sickening as it was, the interrogation had been purely business for Garak.

 _'It was his usual,'_  Parmak mentally lamented,  _'nothing out of the ordinary, a mere grain of sand on the dune of his service to the State.'_

It was all in Garak's past, but perhaps not entirely. Parmak realized how in their every interaction there were common markers signifying that Garak felt, of all things, guilty.

So eager to help Parmak, ready to to assist them at a moment's notice, even faster if the doctor voiced a need, any need; moreso than even Roli in some instances. 

 _'As if he could gain my forgiveness piecemeal,'_ Parmak suppressed what would've been an ungainly snort,  _'that's not how forgiveness works, Agent.'_

Parmak wasn't sure they could ever forgive Garak for that farce of a trial, or the penal colony and its the guards; and for certain, Kelas wasn't sure they could forgive the Obsidian Order, the old government, the Dominon, or any of it really, either.

And as untrue as it may be, Parmak felt that if they forgave their  _torturer,_  it would be tantamount to forgiving everything; and the scope of that proved too much for them to bear right now on top of everything that was going on. Parmak was preoccupied with placing one metaphorical foot in front of the other, focusing on making it through each, difficult and deadly day. 

Lost in their thoughts, Parmak started to drift off, falling into a muzzy sort of doze as the pain had finally tapered off and the final dregs of adrenaline left them drained.

_'Just... A few... minutes...'_

...

Then a gentle hand pressed at their shoulder, rousing a groggy Parmak from the cusp of sleep.

It was Garak's.

"If you must sleep, you should do it indoors," The former Order agent tutted warmly, "it would be a shame to get debris in your wounds after all the effort I put into cleaning them."

Parmak's eyes opened to darkness, and the prevailing wind carrying the cooler temperatures of night, making the doctor realize that they'd slept hours instead of mere minutes.

 _'I must be more tired than I thought,'_   Parmak thought as they moved to stand, ignoring Garak's quietly proffered hand and feeling the tight soreness of their back, thighs, and biceps.

Parmak rose unassisted.

Seconds passed as two Cardassians stood outside, an awkward gulf of silence and lack of eye contact until-

"Do you have a lantern I can use?" Parmak's query cut through the silence like a knife. The caress of the desert air soothed the raw swelling of their back, almost as though Cardassia herself were comforting them.

 _'If I have to walk back to Tarlak to my residence, then I will,'_  Parmak thought stubbornly. 

"No, I don't," Garak lied, reading his companion's intent loud and clear and not about to let the good doctor wander about, injured, in the dark. 

 _'This was supposed to be quick,'_  Parmak gave a frustrated sigh,  _'let Garak clean and fix my scales, then leave.'_

The enshrouded form that was Garak remained silent.

"Right," Kelas rubbed at their face, sighing again and suddenly feeling light-headed; they'd barely eaten today and wanted to sleep for a week.

First thing first though, "Where have you been relieving yourself?" 

Quietly Garak simply led them around back to a crudely-made pit about three meters deep, before handing them a shovel and walking away.

 _'Relieve yourself and bury it under a layer of dirt' -_ Went the unspoken instruction, but they were also past the point of judgement. It was simple, utilitarian, and effective for now, especially since the ground closer to the city center was hard-packed and incredibly difficult to dig through without tools.

And as such, the survivor communities Parmak knew of had been utilizing less than ideal methods.

Several shovelfuls of dirt into the pit later and Parmak wandered back to the shed, and found Garak sitting just outside the shed with a little fire burning near the doorway. Discarded house paneling was propped up at an angle to serve as a wind break, allowing the campfire to crackle merrily and unsnuffed, casting a shadowed light on and through the shed's open entryway in a pleasant warmth.

Parmak sat themself near the small campfire, and Garak preparing two dead  _getil_ for cooking. 

 _'He must've caught them,'_  Parmak thought, and started working out the tightness in their shoulder by kneading their fingers into the sore muscles, and rolling their head. So far, they'd seen most survivors scrounging for processed food sources, but Garak was the first person they'd seen forgoing that search, and went hunting instead.

 _'It's such a simple thing,'_  Parmak concluded,  _'but Garak's let go of everything, what our society was, embracing the now in all its cruelty.'_

Then there was only the merry crackle of the fire and the soft scrapes and hacks of Garak's makeshift knife, a crude shard of metal debris and leather scraps tied to make a handle, cleanly gutting the animals. The doctor noted that Garak must have plucked and exsanguinated the  _getil_ earlier, perhaps while Parmak had slept or maybe even before the doctor had arrived.

One could almost call the silence that settled between the two, as Garak prepped the food for cooking, companionable. Kelas stared into the red flames, and resigned themself to the idea of staying the night. They hadn't spent the night at Garak's since Parmak saved his life-  

_Ptchsh! Ptchsh!_

Garak was staking the skewers into the ground, over the fire, and despite the carcasses' rawness Kelas already felt their stomach rumble with anticipation. Once satisfied that the food was properly placed, Garak pretended to watch the darkened, dust-clouded sky for stars, and pointedly not staring at the shirtless doctor next to him.

 _'Don't sigh, Kelas,'_ They told themself quietly.

Some restless minutes later found Kelas struggling to find a more comfortable position to sit in, their favored cross legged position fatigued them quickly now. No matter how they shifted, they seemed unable to escape the dull twinges of their back until finally the doctor settled for tucking their legs beneath them, and sitting primly on their ankles.

Another flutter of brisk night air, like a sweep of cold hands over the shoulders, or a sharp skitter over their back, caused Kelas to inhale sharply. What had been refreshingly cool, was now distractingly cold. Even with the heat of the campfire at their front, the night's chill seeped into Kelas' very bones, and their shirtless state was quickly becoming more and more of an inconvenience after all.

Then the sound of rustling coming from Garak's direction stole Kelas' attention, and to their surprise, Garak produced a small sewing kit and the doctor's ruined shirt, and began to mend it with mismatching scraps of fabric. 

 _'I was beginning to wonder where that'd gone,'_  Kelas thought, then ended up asserting, "I didn't know that you could sew."

"Pffhahah-!" Garak actually barked out a short laugh, before quickly trailing off into an amused hum, "I'm rather good at sewing actually, it's proven quite calming."

Kelas was glad when Garak didn't look up from his new project. With his piercing stare focused elsewhere Kelas could look upon the stocky man unafraid. Garak's plain features were shadowed as he bent over the fabric in his lap; this was the man who'd featured in many of Kelas' nightmares, a herald of suffering and an aggressor both. The too-blue and too-bright eyes moved about as he pieced together the torn and patchy fabric, and Kelas could once again feel the tiny kernels of resentment burn in their chest.

_'Ah, so there are still a few live coals left, fancy that.'_

"The only sewing I've done was on flesh," Kelas turned and gazed at the fire, their tone mostly flat, "mostly at the penal colony."

"I imagine that was far from calming," Garak said, the glimmer of dark humor in his tone very nearly makes Kelas laugh. 

Nearly.

And so the silence stretched between them once more, with Garak still sewing, and Kelas watching as the speared  _getil_ started more and more to resemble food with each passing, mouthwatering, minute. 

Then Garak stood up to walk back inside the shed, he must've finished with Kelas' shirt when they hadn't been looking, because the doctor spotted the folded shirt placed on the ground nearby. They could see the careful, meticulous little stitches along the edges of each patch, a good job the doctor would say, not that they were any authority on tailoring and other related sundry.

Garak came back with a folded blanket, placing it between the two of them, then turned back to assess their would-be meal.

 _'It's not burnt at least,'_  Kelas thought pensively and with no small part of impatience. As nice as it was to be provided for, Kelas wanted to confront Garak on his blatant presumptuousness: preparing enough food for two, darning Kelas' clothes, and providing a  _suspicious_  blanket. All of it was... suspect.

 _'Too tired,'_  The doctor dismissed the impulse almost as soon as it materialized,  _'at least Garak isn't being actively malicious.'_

Now there was a thought, a consistency that stirred up both comfort and discomfort within Kelas, Garak didn't seem to have so much as an unkind word for Kelas, truly these were strange times. 

_'Not malicious... at least not since the interrogation.'_

Unbidden, the memories screeched and bayed within the tumult of Kelas' mind, like restless ghosts refusing to be exorcised, quickly souring the doctor's mood. Soon they were lost to the memories, letting their unfocused gaze stare blankly into the dancing flame, and so the two Cardassians lapsed into a heavier sort of silence. Kelas didn't say a word, and had gone very still; while they could practically feel the weight of the still-unspoken history hanging between the two of them like a gaping chasm.

"I repaired some solar panels today," This time it was Garak, who cracked under the pressure of silence, before the addendum of, "Tain liked having utilities that weren't dependent upon the State's provision." 

There were multiple ways to take that additional bit of trivia, but Kelas ignored it and took the path of least resistance and murmured, "I'm sure we can find much more ethical uses for them."

"Undoubtedly," Garak agreed as he, finally, handed a skewer to the doctor, before taking one for himself, "I'm quite eager to get the subspace communicator online, and dearly hope that  _getil_  doesn't become a steady part of our diets."

Now  _that,_ elicited an undignified snort from the older Cardassian as they stared at their current fare for a few seconds, before each taking a respective bite.

Both grimaced. 

 _'So gamey.'_  Kelas thought as they took another famished bite before seeking a distraction from the lackluster taste by asking, "However did you catch them?"

"Theywere roosting nearby," Garak explained easily between small, almost fussy, bites, "so I trapped them, and killed two  _birds_  with one stone."

...What?

"You, threw a stone?" Kelas responded incredulously. 

For a delightfully tempting moment Garak wanted to say yes. He wanted to sow the seeds, and weave his playful lies that had made his time in exile livable, but decided he'd have the opportunity on another day. 

"A human  _idiom_ ," Garak explained as if that would mean anything to Kelas, while making a gesturing motion with his skewer, "A saying that means, to accomplish two tasks at once, and  _g_ _etil_ are noisy things so I shut them up. Now there's a meal for the two of us."

"How odd," Kelas muttered; they'd never met a Human before, and although they'd seen a few pictures of them used in some propaganda during the war, Humans and the Federation still felt very foreign to the doctor.

_Two birds with one stone._

"What's a  _bird_?" The doctor asked suddenly.  

"A flying animal with feathers," Garak looked pleased with himself, "not unlike our meal once was."

"You have that Federation crate in the shed, you have Federation rations, and you speak of human things often," Kelas listed off thoughtfully, suppressing a yawn, swallowing another bite of warmed  _getil_  meat, "you seem very familiar with them." 

Garak made a show of choosing his words, and Kelas wasn't sure if they were imagining the man's gaze surreptitiously sweeping over the doctor's still-exposed chest or not; then a moment and another dainty bite of  _getil_  later came a, "I'm all too familiar." 

"You mentioned a subspace communicator before," Kelas homes back in on the important matters, "I assume you arrived with it?"

"Indeed!" Garak said brightly, "it has a rechargeable battery, however it'll need a few days hooked up to the solar panels to be of any use, and even then, it will only be capable of short transmissions between charging times." 

By then Kelas had finally finished with their meal, and picked up the blanket to delicately cocoon themself against the chill of the night's winds, and asked, "you wouldn't happen to have a sonic shower packed away in your crate, would you?" 

Kelas was only  _half-_ joking, and Garak let out a sharp bark of laughter.

"I'm afraid we'll be relegated to dust baths for the near future," Garak's smiled wide, mirth reaching his eyes, "but feel free to look for yourself, I was only able to bring some essentials, and the communicator with me."

 _'He's probably already hidden anything suspicious or interesting anyways,'_  Kelas groused with a noncommittal hum, but still with full-intent of taking up Garak's offer in the morning.

It was just... Too tempting for Kelas to resist the urge to take even the smallest of peeks-

The doctor yawned.

Now fed, patched up and warm, Kelas was too worn to fend off their exhaustion any longer, so they changed the subject, "How do you propose we pass the night?" 

And no sooner were the words out of their mouth, did the doctor realize how  _suggestive_  they were.

"I doubt there's space on your sleeping mat," Kelas clarified almost too-quickly, "barely enough even in your shed, for two."

The shed was, rather messy, to put it politely.

“I sincerely doubt that I'll be sleeping tonight anyway," Garak said with a shrug, "might as well be with company."

Kelas sighed, but took their leave into the shed, as they didn't have the energy to battle Garak over his terrible sleeping patterns tonight. So instead, the older Cardassian laid upon Garak's sleeping mat, re-swaddled themself in the blanket Garak had provided, and without further ado, proceeded to sleep like the dead. 

...

Garak was alone.

No longer under Kelas' gaze, Garak sighed and took the food remains to toss them into the makeshift latrine. After shoveling a small amount of dirt to cover the remains, he returned to the shed, and thought briefly on his plans to use the pit to produce compost for gardening, though it would be quite some time before the endeavor bore fruit. He placed Kelas' discarded shirt within reach of the sleeping mat, and sat in the shed's open doorway, silent and still.

The fire had started to burn out, giving sputtering little  _pops_  and crackles only every so often; so thus Garak fed some more kindling, a piece of broken-down furniture, to the fire.

The flames flickered and jumped, almost happily in a disturbing mixture of death and life. 

Only minutes had passed, but he could tell Kelas was already deeply asleep, and spied them lain on their right side, their feet facing the door, and the warm blanket draped around them. The shed was still quite cramped despite its somewhat generous size, for a shed. It was cluttered with old gardening tools, neat stacks of pots, some planters, and a few sacks of soft soil and fertilizer. There was also Tolan's old workbench and some shelving units placed against the walls, but all in all it was a mess, and Garak felt as though he should've cleaned it up better before his company had arrived.

 _'Tomorrow,'_  Garak promised himself halfheartedly,  _'I'll do it tomorrow... Perhaps.'_

Garak also noticed that Kelas seemed to have decided against sleeping with a shirt, which was understandable given their wounds, but it still didn't help disprove Garak's fanciful theory that Kelas was a repressed or closeted nudist.

Garak felt a soft smile tugging at his lips and something in his chest was warm and quivering.

_'Strange.'_

The area surrounding Tain's old estate was very much deserted, everyone who'd resided nearby had been of equally high status as the former Head of the Obsidian Order, and had therefore all been engaged elsewhere during the Dominion's bombardment. The families Garak had expected to come across were all suspiciously missing, and he'd posited that there had been an evacuation attempt.

Failed or otherwise, he did not know.

Now Mila was Garak's only company since his return, still and silent in her dark, dusty cradle, down, down,  _down_ , in Tain's old basement. 

 _'Isolation is an effective form of torture,'_  Garak poked at the burning coals,  _'I, of all people, would know."  
_

But Garak hadn't lied when he'd said he wouldn't sleep tonight, because lately he'd been experiencing hallucinations. Never the pleasant sort and frequently enough to be a concern. This was often exacerbated at night, when the man's hands and mind could no longer be occupied, either by lack of light to work by or exhaustion, letting the niggling doubt and dread of his waking thoughts tear their owner to ribbons like rabid beasts. 

Garak had been barely managing even one or two hours of rest at a time, and not as often as one could say was healthy, and even when he managed it his nightmares made sleep more like an angry, jilted lover than restorative embrace. It wasn't like his dreams, nightmares more like, were much better. They excavated the very heart him, his flaws and failures paraded through the dreamscape like some infernal mosaic.

However, as it turns out 'three days without sleep' was now a hard limit.

 _'A few decades ago, it would've been just a minor inconvenience,'_  Garak thought while looking up into the night sky, obscured by dust and other airborne debris as his mind turned back to the memory of the good doctor saving him from himself days ago,  _'not that I deserve-'_

"No," Garak whispered, barely audible and trying to stop himself; that thought would lead to nowhere good.

Nowhere good at all.

_Shhlff..._

Garak heard Kelas shift in their sleep, oblivious to the world. Then, not for the first time, Garak was so glad for their company, fraught and tense as it unsurprisingly was.

From where he was sitting, Garak grabbed one of his undershirts and bundled it to serve as a cushion between his lower back and the door frame. The early summer weather thus far had been pleasant enough that the door could be left open, and admit both the fire's warmth and fresh air; this also did wonders for Garak's dislike of small, enclosed spaces especially now that he lived in one.

Then Garak crossed his legs and tried to settle his thoughts, with the sound of Kelas' long breaths acting as a quiet metronome for his disorderly musings.

Unsurprisingly, many of those musings were centered around the one and only Doctor Kelas Parmak. Centered around that fateful interrogation, and what Garak had done to them all those years ago. As if he could forget what he'd done in his long, fruitful career in the name of service to the State. He was neither some poor misguided soul who never learned better, nor some pitiable grown-up waif of a man who needed but love and redemption. Oh no, he'd made his choices and his bed, so he supposed it was only fitting that he lie in it.

 _'Another human idiom,'_  Garak scoffed quietly at himself,  _'you're being sentimental, Elim.'_

And was he ever, all his redoubling of efforts to treat Kelas as best as possible through this  _very_  trying time, though not a hardship in the least, Garak knew it made no difference. He'd lived behind the thin mask of obvious obliviousness, effective only as much as it was obscuring his motivations with smokescreens and theater house plays of pointless and mundane lies.

Kelas' regard for Garak was like a tide, lapping close at the shore one minute and withdrawn in the next. Garak could hear it in every probing and innocuous question, and could see it in every microexpression, the doctor wasn't good enough to hide them from experienced eyes. Garak had been the triggerman, the herald to the doctor's suffering, and Garak knew he'd done his companion _wrong._

 _'But that's the thing isn't it? What constitutes as having wronged a person?'_   Went the scathingly practical rejoinder,  _'what was **correct** and  **essential** over a decade ago, is now  **heinous** and  **wrong**.'_

Julian and Kelas would decry that pragmatism, vehemently, in its entirety, and that put Garak at an impasse. Accept it? How could he? Doing so would denounce the already-shaky foundations his life had been built upon. 

 _'Does it even matter anymore?'_  Garak pondered,  _'the Order, the True Way, Central Command and even the Depta Council, they're all gone now.'_

T'were all but dust, and corpses that rotted in the sun.

Garak spared another glance toward the Cardassian doctor at rest, suddenly struck by a paranoia that his thunderous thoughts had woken Kelas, but was relieved to see them undisturbed. 

 _'Ridiculous,'_  Garak scolded himself while trying to steady his breaths, trying to ground himself again,  _'I'm being ridiculous.'_

Instead Garak tried focusing on the the campfire, every energetic little pop and crackle, and the jump of the flickering flames devouring their wooden fuel gaily. It wasn't enough to becalm his rising anxiety, so the former-exile's focus shifted to the gentle puffs of Kelas' slumbering exhales, and then gentle hum of the wind outside. Next was the sensation of Garak's own breaths, and the dim warmth of the firelight that bathed his right side, and finally to think on the familiar weight of Cardassia's gravity hugging him to her surface.

The emotional storm settled, somewhat, not quite gentle, but less harsh and imposing that it had been before.

 _'Good,'_  Garak's fingers clenched at the meat of his thighs,  _'that's... Good, yes.'_

So Garak tried to see life the way his doctor's did and stretched the edges of his paradigm by concluding that most, if not everything, he'd done in the name of the State was irredeemably wrong.

Guilt, like a vicious kick to the chest, befell him. 

Garak let his paradigm snap back to its original form.

Morality, the man knew, wasn't an immutable line in the sand between such banal generalizations like 'good' and 'bad.' It was a topic he remembered exploring with the ever-contrarian, Julian Bashir, most thoroughly, providing the exiled tailor with so many rousing debates over the years. But even Julian wasn't able to alter the course of Garak's morality. The Cardassian felt that he'd done the right thing, serving the Order, everything was a means to the end of benefiting the State and her growth, her conservation, her legacy, her people.

Then why, why, why did it hurt so whenever Kelas shied away from meeting Garak's gaze?

_'It shouldn't, but it does.'_

They'd each made their decisions, back then, that put them both on opposing sides for the time. Garak the interrogator, and the doctor, a dissedent; the conclusion was inevitable and now, years later, they each have to live with the consequences.

_'What is to be gained by sentimental frivolities such as **guilt** or  **regret**?'_

This wasn't the first time these thoughts plagued him, and as much as Elim wanted Julian to shoulder the blame as the root of these struggles, perhaps this was a long time coming.

That very seeds of these matters, at the heart of everything, had all planted in his mind since his childhood, by Tolan.

...

Without preamble, Garak saw Tolan manifest before him, shuffling steps as he moved about the shed, taking in the state of his tools; some of which rusted and chipped from use. The visage was so, lifelike, Garak noted as he watched his first-father continue his search for whatever it was the man was searching for, stepping politely around the sleeping doctor Parmak. Considering how lifelike the hallucination was, Garak mused on how easy it was to forget that the man rummaging around the shed was decades dead.

Garak added another bit of wood to the fire.

There was a sputter of flying embers, that fluttered up into the air before disappearing.

 _'The light isn't falling on you correctly, Yadik,'_  Garak noted quietly, though not holding out hope that it would remain a recurring rule of his hallucinations.

 _"Elim,"_ Tolan gave up his search and approached the man who'd once been a boy the gardener raised,  _"how did it all become such a mess?"_

Garak shook his head, he didn't know.

Then Tolan was holding an  _oskoid_  stalk, the man's position had changed and Garak couldn't recall him moving at all. The gentle memory of enjoying the rare plant during the winter months with Mila and Tolan crept upon him. 

 _"It's such a fickle plant,"_  Tolan continued, gazing at the stalk with the same fatherly care he administered to all his gardens, the way he'd looked on Garak all those years ago,  _"you remember? It needs to be told where to grow, and you even have to bend the stalk yourself sometimes. Without a caring hand to guide it, the foolish plant would grow stunted and die."_

The plant was set down, next to Garak, growing dim and watery at the edges, and faded away.

 _"I tried to set you on the best path,"_ Tolan was crouched next to Garak now, his voice kept low as though in consideration for Kelas.

Garak needed to remember-

"There was nothing you could do," Garak responded quietly, relievingly, "Tain's influence was more than you could overcome." 

 _"You remember me,"_  Tolan eyes wrinkled at the corners. 

"Fondly."

_"And how do you honor me?"_

Garak gestured the interior of the shed, "I use the tools you left me."

 _"Then use them,"_  his father's words were weighty, full of implied reference,  _"remember the Hebitians, remember my lessons, and make a decision-"_

"You've never been this chatty before," Garak response wryly. 

 _"You've never needed this much of a shove to simply move before,"_ Elim's father looked practically impish for a moment, before growing solemn, _"_ _you need to **grow** , Elim." _

-that none of this was  _real_.

Garak opened his eyes and Tolan was gone.

The man looked around and saw no signs of the apparition, his eyes finally falling upon an oblivious Kelas who was still asleep, and then to the fire which had burnt low. Then with a muffled groan, the tailor leaned back, letting his head thump gently against the door frame before finally letting his body fully rest against said structure.

Garak slept fitfully.

 

* * *

 

_It hurt to breathe-_

_Kelas was gasping now, breaths all short and quick_

_A sharp ache in their ribs with every inhale and exhale, so tired, so tired_

_They shiver_

_It was too cold, and everything is sluggish. They try to move and it was almost like swimming in mud, their limbs felt heavy and too slow to respond_

_Then their hands are seized and immobilized, and their entire body pinned and forced supine with a thud. The ground is cold, no, everything, everything is cold and it seeped into every inch of their body, through the thin fabric of their colony-issued uniform_

_Fight them off, you must get away!_

_Kelas is_   _afraid_

_They can see the uniforms of the other prisoners now, and can feel their hands, so **many**  hands, holding them down_

_No faces, none of them, features faded out, blurred and indistinct like beasts or spirits-_

_'Waiting?'_   _Kelas wonders, 'waiting for wh-?'_

**_FMPH!_ **

_For an small eternity there is nothing but raw pain_

_All thoughts washed blank, broken and discarded as agony blooms at the site of impact; their ribs surely and maliciously broken_

_The toe of a military boot, connects and digs roughly into their cheek, forces the doctor to look up._

_Another figure, standing eerie vigil over the proceedings, a grey blur, a smear of space where a face should be, nothing but a pair of blue eyes, staring down at Kelas_

_**-blue eyes blue eyes blue eyes blue blue too blue stop stop stop-**  
_

_Kelas coughs._

_Another kick lands, knocking their face away from the Inquisitor_

_A hand slides over their nose and mouth-_

_Panic, alarm, and suffocation descend upon Kelas_

_And the faceless blue stares apathetically_

_It won't stop, the crowd vanishes, but the feel of their hands don't; Kelas is still prisoner. Lungs burning for air, ribs creaking with the strain, vision blurring_

_All around now, and distant booms drawing closer!_

_Building tumble and still K_ _e_ _las slowly dies under the Inquisitor's silent gaze. He looks upon the doctor as if the prisoner's death was nothing but mundane_

 _The doctor's eyes sting_ _, chest burning like the buildings around them_

_A Dominion ship zips by overhead; explosions are louder now._

_Kelas struggles in one final attempt to survive, struggles to sit up, to stand, to run, anything-!_

_'Pleasepleaseplease-!' They beg_

_They can't, still pinned by invisible hands, by the Inquisitor, no escape, no hope at all!_

_A bomb falls from far overhead._

 

* * *

 

Kelas gasped.

Groggy and disoriented, breathing hard and heart hammering like an erratic drum, the dregs of their nightmare still clung to the edges of their consciousness like an infant to its mother. The doctor couldn't move, or more specifically something was wrapped around them restricting their movements. Panicked, they kicked it off while bolting up to sit; their head swiveling about. It was small and dark, wherever they were, and there was a dim light flickering against one of the walls.

Responding to the presence of another, Kelas swiftly crouched on the balls of their feet, ready to fight, ready for an inmate-

Instead they saw a man sitting in the open doorway of the small room, half lit by a fire on the other side...

 _'No... The shed,'_  Kelas realized,  _'not at the penal colony; this is the shed, **His** shed,  **Garak's**... Kati.'_

All was quiet but for gentle sputter of the campfire, and the sound of Kelas' ragged breaths.

Then they felt the man's eyes on them, those terrible eyes blinking muzzily, his entire face groggy and his hair sleep-mussed. The doctor met the man's gaze, before quickly breaking the eye contact, and choosing to focus on Garak's hands that lay relaxed in the his lap. Hands that are distinctly being kept to himself. Garak had been sleeping in the doorway before being awoken by Kelas' noise.

 _'It was only a dream,'_ Kelas realized, and releasing a panicked breath,  _'just a nightmare!'_

Awash with relief, Kelas fell back onto the mat gracelessly, then felt very cold and realized that the restraint they'd thrown off had been nothing more than an innocuous blanket, guilty of nothing but keeping the doctor warm. Shivering a bit, Kelas retrieved and bundled themself up with the blanket and refused to take their gaze off the man who darkened the doorway. Cold, tired and sore, Kelas found themself shaking despite being swaddled in the blanket once more.

The older Cardassian's heart still beat like a fleeing beast of prey, and their clenched fingers fisted the blanket at the telltale twinges of pain in their back. Kelas just couldn't find it in themself to calm down.

Especially not while Inquisitor Garak kept  _staring_  at them.

"I believe it was a nightmare," Garak observed unhelpfully, and it was then that Kelas wondered if all Obsidian Order agents were specially trained to be such pissants or if that quality was unique to Garak.

"And what are you now," Kelas spat hatefully, "my guard?"

"Nothing so sinister-"

"No, of course not," Kelas felt their lips curl into something between a snarl and a sneer, "because you've been  _defanged;_  you're absolutely harmless now, right?!"

Garak blinked, but remained tactfully silent.

"I mean, what is allthis?" Kelas jabbed a hand sharply at Garak, gesturing to all of him, "what do you intend to do with me? You wish to be my  _friend?"_

Never had the word 'friend' sounded so dirty _._ The doctor let out a dark laugh, one Garak was familiar with, but never from Kelas. Still, Garak was quiet, and didn't so much as twitch in reply.

"Lo and behold, the great and powerful Elim Garak, begging for the friendship of a lowly  _dissident,"_  The doctor hissed out, words like venom spat out to echo menacingly in the small space, "how the mighty have fallen."

 _'I deserve this,'_  Garak thought,  _'for all that I've done, and for what I did to you.'_

But age-old defensive walls rose anyway, and the man ended up further schooling his features and sitting up straighter. Had it been anyone else, Garak would have quickly turned the tide of the conversation, but things were different and this was Kelas Parmak. One of the few strong enough to survive both the Order's, and The Fire.

_'You're one of the few who deserved to survive, my good doctor.'_

"You're a  _learned_  man," Kelas continued on their long-overdue tirade, "surely you could exercise your imagination to conceive what I've been through! What I've suffered! Because of the Order! Because of you!" 

Garak knew, or had imagined it, and it had become a prominent feature in many a nightmare for the same reason that being back home seemed now more torturous than exile had been: empathy. It had always been Garak's greatest weakness, even if always told Julian that it was sentiment. Tain had seen that frailty in Elim, Tain had seen  _everything_.

 _'He did do his best to burn that softness out of me.'_  Garak mused.

Even years after its deactivation, the Wire and its neuro-chemical pacification still echoed keenly; and a dangerous mix of distress and empathy ruthlessly dogged Garak's thoughts to this very day, often creeping upon him when he least expected it.

Garak realized that Kelas must have said something else, but that he'd been too lost in his own thoughts. Not that Garak was able to speak in the face of the livid, righteously angry doctor. Then Garak made an error, something of his thoughts must've shone through his carefully crafted mask, all cracked and weathered with time, suffering, and age.

"I'm sorry, is that  _guilt?"_ Kelas wasted no time in pouncing upon the first sign of weakness, "are Obsidian Order Agents even  _allowed_  to feel that?"

Stubbornly silent, Garak struggled to hang onto the little composure he had left. A shadow came to exist just outside the shed in the shape of a man, its back to the weakened fire, beside where Garak sat, looking down at the two. The stony, and ever-assessing face of Enabran Tain was thrown into relief as the hallucination solidified. Garak couldn't handle the tide of emotions any longer. He closed his eyes, and tried counted his breaths.

_'1, 2, 3, 4...'_

"Pathetic," Kelas spat, cursing not just Garak, but the entire former Cardassian government. 

Tain seemed impossibly tall, broad and imposing. The dead man leaned with one hand on the threshold to loom over Garak, and he is struck by the vivid memory of this same experience occurring long ago. He remembered cowering on the floor, and the darkness that had surrounded him soon after. He remembered his father's disdainful voice muffled by the closet door.

_" **Pathetic**."_

It was a strange day to discover something that both Tain and Doctor Parmak agreed upon. Still looming over Garak, Tain cocked his head, and finally spoke.

_"Elim, look at you."_

Garak's breaths grew more labored, and disassociation pulled at the edges of his mind. But he continued to breathe and count. 

_'5... 6... 7...'_

_"The words of a dissident, a disgraced freak, would have never shaken you like this before,"_  Tain rebuked with chagrin, " _you used to take such pride in your work! You were the best of the best, exactly how I made you._ _Where is that pride now!"_  

Garak gazed unseeingly at own his hands. 

_'8... 9... 10...'_

_"You did more good for Cardassia than any S'ie ever could."_

The image of Tain regarded Parmak as if looking upon the hole behind the shed. Kelas had stopped speaking several awkward moments ago, and watched as Garak reacted to stimuli that wasn't there, watched as the infuriating man retreated into hallucination.  

"You don't get to do this," Kelas croaked brokenly, hands opening and closing intermittently, voice quiet now, "you don't just get to  _sit there_ silently, again."

Garak stiffened with surprise, dragged back from the depths, for the moment.

 _'What nonsense would I say,'_  wondered a dazed Garak,  _'if I opened my mouth now and let my rotted husk of a soul come tumbling out?'_

Garak's first instinct was to lie and deflect the spotlight away from himself, and the truth. And yet, what  _was_  the truth anyways? And Kelas was right, Garak did desirethe doctor's friendship despite the circumstances. There was an easy falsehood balanced at the tip of Garak's tongue, but the man forced it back down, and refused to commit it to words. Garak's eyes glanced back to the figure of Tain, still stoic, but the air of disapproval that fell upon the repatriated Cardassian made any sort of peace of mind at this juncture an impossibility. 

Then like rain after a drought,  _Julian_  appeared.

Still framed by the unflattering cut of his Starfleet uniform, he was perched on the edge of Tolan's old worktable. But this visage was from years past, this Julian looked exactly as he had back when they'd first spoken with each other on the Promenade. Now, Julian looked down at Garak with eyes that shone with a compassion so bright it burned.

Garak felt warm.

 _"Tell them the truth Garak,"_ Julian insisted,  _"you have to give them something to work with."_

Lies had kept Garak safe for most of his life, but they also kept him cold... So, so cold. Lies had birthed him, sculpted him like clay, guided his hands and his steps until he was there, in that tiny shed where his first father had once always been. Lies had also poisoned everything he cared about, and in many ways had brought Cardassia to its knees. Kelas was angry, hurt, and scared right now,  _but_  they were being honest about it.

 _"State your intentions then,"_ Julian gestured between the two with frustration,  _"it's not like you to be at a loss for words!"_

Garak nearly smiles, and oh, how Garak ached for his friend to really be there. But he wouldn't wish the sight of the piles of dead and dying and unsaveable upon gentle Julian, who believed in saving everyone. But now wasn't the time to dwell and Kelas needed Garak to talk if they were to move forward.

 _'For better or for worse,'_  Garak thought grimly,  _'I need to try.'_

"I don't know what to say," Garak started, honest, but still evasive, and he spied Julian-on-the-worktable shooting him a soft, encouraging little smile that made Garak's chest feel tight. 

"Something! Anything!" Kelas' voice rose, less of an angry hiss but no less scornful, "before me is a monster of a man, one who delighted in the suffering of others, and now that he's lost everything he's entreating, of all things, forgiveness!" 

Kelas really looked like they wanted to violently chuck something at Garak's head. An expression Garak was overly familiar with. 

"Of course I'm a monster," Garak agreed readily, and then at Kelas' resulting pause, "you think I'm unaware? I was there and I know precisely what I've done. Of course I enjoyed the torture, the murder! I had to, how else was I supposed to be useful?"

Garak made a vague, waving gesturing at Tain's still-present silhouette, who was inside the shed now, and distressingly, looming over his bastard son.

"You didn't have to join the Order!" Kelas' voice had flagged slightly, but then with a renewed fury, "there's always a choice!" 

Oh, how they both wished it were that simple.

"You're right, I could have chosen, either I worked for him or..." 

Garak stopped, and found himself looking around the dimly lit shed, and something in the former-agent's stirred at the thought of the father Tolan had tried so hard to be for him.

"Or what!" Kelas' hissed demand stole Garak from falling into reverie.

"Or I could have chosen to die," Garak answered firmly, as if accusing himself without pity, "I took the coward's path, and chose to live at the expense of others."

"Why would you be threatened with death if you didn't join?"

"Enabran wasn't the kindest father," Garak's offered smile was tenebrous and brittle. The act of willingly revealing such a piercing truth felt as if he'd flayed himself open. This was the only, as Julian would've put it,  _olive branch_  that Garak had that was of any worth. 

 _'Not that it's worth much_. _Nothing of ours has ever been worth much; especially our_ excuses _.'_

Kelas went still, expression pensive with a hint of shock as the pieces seemed to fall into place. Pieces that had been before their eyes this whole time, now assembling into a clearer image of who it was that sat before them. Garak took the lack of response as a blessing to let his penitent tirade continue. 

 _'_ _More Julian-isms,'_  Garak noticed just how deeply the young Human was ingrained into him. The image of Julian gave him a look of affection that Garak fiercely wished he deserved. As if he deserved to even ache for Julian at all.

"You're right, Doctor. I'm a pathetic monster, exactly like Tain in every way, because I am what he made me to be," Garak was struck by the sudden urge to heave up his dinner from hours before, but he resisted, "I deserve every scrap of your hatred and you should have left me out in the rain."

Garak finished quieter than he'd started and Tain looked at him with such  _disappointment_ that he wanted to curl up and hide, but he didn't, of course. This would be penance, Kelas rejecting him, perhaps even never coming to see him again. He deserved everything that happened to him, and Kelas should never have saved him.

Kelas had found Garak near-hypothermic after the first and only heavy rain that the area had gotten since the bombs fell, the man shivering and insensate with cold. Kelas had saved Garak from dying that day, and the former-exile wasn't sure what fate was worse. Perhaps the Cardassian doctor's kindness was its own revenge.

In response, Kelas reorganized their thoughts, coming to terms with the turn in the argument, whilst Tain's apparition

_-it can't be real, Tain is dead, Tain is dead-_

closed in on Garak like the walls of  _Tzenketh_ , and not for the first or last time, made Garak feel fragile and small. Normally Kelas would offer comfort to someone in distress, and Garak was clearly in distress, but all they could think of was how small and fragile Garak had made them feel. This needed to happen, and Kelas was not about to stop.

"I refuse to be a tool for your self-flagellation," Kelas declared with a gimlet eye, "so, you supposedly feel guilt for what you did?"

Garak's chest and throat felt tight as panic wound its way through his veins, stealing his voice; but somehow, Garak managed to nod.

"To me?"

Another nod, and the tightness in Garak's chest blossomed into pain while the feeling of claustrophobia, his ever present shackle, bore down upon him. Looking down at his chest, he saw Tain's fingers digging their way in just beneath Garak's ribs, as if to steal the words from his son's lungs, while Garak's mind desperately tried to scramble toward reality. Garak bit back a cry that would've been somewhere on the crossroads of alarm and agony, and plastered his back against the wood of the doorframe, refusing to let himself double over. 

_'This isn't real; Tain isn't real, he's dead, and Kelas needs you. Focus!'_

"Do you think Tain ever felt guilt?" Kelas' strange and silly question vied for Garak's attention.

"No," Was the easiest truth Garak had ever spoken.

Kelas crossed their arms defensively, "do  _you_  think you deserve to be forgiven?"

Julian moved to sit at Kelas' side, both remained seemingly unaware of the nightmare playing out before Garak's vision only feet way. Garak felt keenly, as grey, cold fingertips scraped along the bottom of his lungs. So Garak focused on the winsome human for refuge, and was struck by the memories of Julian's boundless optimism, warm brown eyes, and tender soul.  

Then the echo said, _" _I forgive you f_ or whatever it is you've done."_

 _'But that forgiveness isn't yours to give, dear,'_  Garak would have said back then, if he were brave,  _'it was nothing but a small bandage over a festering wound.'_

"No, I don't," Garak said to the doctor, the  _real_ one, hoarsely. 

 _"Stop making me hurt you, Elim!"_ Tain drove his fingers deeper through Garak's rib cage, all without breaking the skin, but still,  _it hurt._ It was agony, and Garak wasn't sure he'd survive it; never had a hallucination been this unbearable.

Garak choked off a whimper.

"Why?" Kelas pressed further, as if they knew Garak would survive this.

"I've done nothing to earn it," Garak gasped.

"Do you want to be forgiven?" 

"I-" The words stuck in the Garak's throat and indecision warred within him. Could he rightly entreat for forgiveness for something he wasn't, couldn't, be sorry for? Was Kelas capable of offering such absolution for all of Garak's actions, good or ill? What could even be construed as right and good? Could Garak spin _a_ truth to gain that ephemeral penance that would grant him sweet relief? If it was spun, did that not inherently make it unworthy of the reward?

 _'What do I even want here?'_ Garak wondered.

Then Tain brought his free arm to rest upon Garak's shoulder, and made the living son flinch beneath his father's touch.

Garak nearly shook, but answered himself and Kelas, "I don't know." 

Then as quickly as they'd arrived, Tain and Julian both, were gone, and with it the tailor felt the metaphorical weight of the exhumed past lift from his shoulders, a bit. Still breathing shakily, feeling much like a raw nerve, and his torso still tingling, Garak felt more exhausted than he had been upon waking. Then the man gave a heavy exhale, truth was exhausting, and he wasn't sure he liked it very much.

So Garak turned his head away from Kelas Parmak, and chose to stare into the dying campfire while he gathered up the scraps of his decimated emotional fortitude. It was much easier to restore when one didn't have their dead father grasping and digging into their insides. Once recomposed, Garak looked back to the now-silent doctor.

"You speak of forgiveness and friendship," Garak's tone was level, and there was no aggression in his body language, "so what is it exactly that you want, Doctor Parmak, hmm?" 

Kelas was immediately uneasy. 

"Not so easy to answer is it?" Garak quirked his brow.

Kelas' nose scrunched as their mouth opened, ready to fire off a snarky comeback-

"You didn't have to come here did you?" Garak cut them off, "S'ie Pen could have easily dressed your wounds, and it's not as though I  _made_  you fall asleep after." 

"Now don't you-!" Kelas sputtered as their hands grabbed at the blanket tightly, Garak's blanket.

"How is it that you don't check up on Pen's community on a daily basis, or the other survivors," Garak hated to cut his conversation partner off so rudely, but at the moment couldn't bring himself to care, "and yet you manage to check up on me  _every single day?"_

"What's your point Garak?" Kelas said petulantly in response to Garak's push back, though it was probably far more tamely than Kelas expected.

"Maybe we both don't know what we are doing here, and maybe there aren't any clear answers to the questions we have now; but maybe it would be best to focus on what's before us instead?" Garak gestured gently to the soft glow of the early sunrise on the horizon, still painted by the glow of the funerary pyres.

Then the tailor moved to stand, and braced his hands on his knees in an attempt to ease the ache in his joints. 

"Just, come outside?" Garak reach down to offer Kelas his right hand, and kept his eyes respectfully focused on Kelas' chufa, "join me in greeting the sun?"

Kelas sat there for a moment, huddled within the blanket, miserable, exhausted, and in pain, thinking; and Garak stood in the doorway, also miserable, exhausted, and in pain, their proffered hand held in silent entreaty, and the sunrise at his back. 

There was a beat, then two, and four, and the sixth beat was followed by a deep, roiling unease in the tailor's chest, because surely Kelas would surely rejec-

Kelas' hand gripped Garak's, briefly, and for the fleeting moment it took to haul the doctor to their feet Garak knew the intimacy of their palm, before it ended; leaving Garak to treasure the moment of contact for surely it would never come again. They turned toward the morning glow, and then the two were but islands again, with a raw, weary but peaceable sense of newness between them. 

Garak knew that they would both come to quarrel with one another again soon enough, and let himself bask in the brokered peace, he'd indulged his self-hatred enough today, and there was always tomorrow.

The day was beginning and there was the faint rustle of Kelas pulling the blanket tighter around themself as they stood next to Garak, framed by the tender morning glow, both the Cardassian's shoulders almost touching as Garak tried not to think on it at all.

Kelas' gaze and focus remained outward, trained on the illuminating horizon, and their expression something close to sanguine.

_Beautiful._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rú- So guess who accidentally posted this chapter before it was ready and hurriedly edited it? This fool


End file.
